The Forgotten Flame
by TheSeventhOfSix
Summary: The Worlds are coming together for the first time since the Fires began to fade, and there is only one chance to Link the Flame... for good. Can the Chosen survive and conquer the real Lordran? Not alone. The real Dark Souls starts here. (Hurpderp, had to edit the first AC.)
1. 1: The Pendant

Imagine a wheel. A clock's face, more aptly.

No- a sundial, lacking the numbers and symbols of our time, inscribed with impossible glyphs that twisted and bent the very rules of reality in their mere existence.

Imagine, if you could, sigils that twisted and warped with each passing second, every one a notifier upon the world's ever-changing events.

To be precise, imagine a sundial mounted upon a disc- one that rotated upon a gyro, rather than the single clock's hand upon its face.

The hand remained stationary- the disc could spin- but the entire thing was only that.

Imaginary.

The Disc was no more real than the hand that stroked it, a woman's finger that almost lovingly caressed the edge of the timepiece and pushed as one would a child's pinwheel.

The Disc spun, the glyphs twisted, and the Planes...

Unraveled.

The hours of a single year undone in one tentative stroke, as power waned in one world and waxed in another, suns and moons competing for dominance upon a hapless sky.

She had done this before- a thousand times.

A million times.

More than that. She had nearly always done this, and would as long as she could- the Timelines were infinite in number, and her work was never to be done. Beyond this, each world had a rather irritating tendency of requiring multiple attempts- and she hardly knew why. It mattered little.

To her, the time she spent meant less than nothing. She was Timeless, or close to it, so long as she never overextended herself. Long ago, She had accepted that it fell to her to rectify the mistakes of others. Accepted it, and become it.

She was the Goddess of Sin.

She was the Rectifier.

She was the Crow.

She was _Velka_.

And Velka had already found the next world to Begi-

_"Wait."_

A pause. A voice in the Chamber of Redemption, this constructed place she had made solely to observe, was an oddity- Velka herself rarely had need to speak, as she chose her time to be spent alone. Still it gave her halt, the long finger of her bare right hand poised mere centimeter from the disc's single needle. While not impossible, this moment was extremely unlikely.

_"My apologies. I didn't mean to startle y- oh, what am I saying. No one startles _Velka_. Of course not. Can't startle a _goddess_. Omnipotency and all that."_

There was no mistaking the sardonic voice of the individual who spoke. No ignoring the loathing and agonized bile he held for even saying these few words to her. He was her chosen nemesis- the reason for this endless cycle of death and rebirth. Velka had accidentally engineered the alteration of time itself, choosing to maintain it until such a time as this creature was without sin, and the world was without its taint. Velka needed not to speak the creature's name. He knew She listened.

"_Yes, its me. Funny thing, this moment of clarity you get just before the world goes into the sewer again. Every last time, all filtered into my poor head like a billion squirming maggots. The Dark Soul- or Flame, or what-have-you- does some funny things to your head, I can tell you."_

He was leaning against one of her bookshelves- the spaces filled to the brim with long-forgotten and unavenged sins that Velka would never have the time or ability to see through to justice. Even if she could, they would all be undone the very moment that the Lord of Fire fell again. Pointlessness, even to keep them. This was Her prison as much as it was His.

He was also entirely nude, not even wearing a strand of hair. Bald, with every inch of his skin entirely smooth save for a handful of small rocks embedded into his skin. To his credit, it was not a horrid sight. He was, after all, one of the Primeval Humans. Musclebound, and strapping, well-endowed and certainly confident. Velka cared little, but it only reinforced her irritation. A Sinner had no right to live, let alone live well. One finger idly tapped her desk, waiting for him to continue. Surely the Furtive Pygmy had interrupted her eternal justice for a reason. Really, she should not have even allowed him the attempt. Call her curious, in a vaguely fatalistic way.

"_I know, I know, 'what the hell have I got to say', right? ...The truth is, Velka, I give. I'm done. I'm tired. I'm beaten. I don't think I can stand another round ending with my head being dipped into an ice bucket of blood and death and sorrow and rage, alright? Your vengeance is served. Isn't that enough? Can't I atone?"_

Velka almost laughed, before she turned and stared over her shoulder to the plaintive pygmy. The Goddess of Sin did not often use her voice anymore. Countless millennia had let her speech fall into disrepair; her mouth stagnant and dry against words. Still, some things... She could let her cobweb-clogged lungs let Him know how much he was despised.

"_Manus. How naive of you. Not all the souls in the world could atone for the mounting horrors you bring each cycle, willing or no. I have been keeping count; the entire population of the world falls victim to your machinations, every time I begin it again- from the moment you steal the Dark Flame, to the moment Gwyn falls. The mounting death toll from a single cycle alone would cost you more than the souls in the world."_

And Manus had waited. He was prepared, for this.

"_I brought something better than Souls, Velka. And before you dismiss me outright, consider this- with each cycle, your power is diminishing. You are a **constant** between worlds, your strength not returning to its old splendor when the new sun dawns. You cast the spell, and so it is your power it draws from. Eventually, I will win- you will fade entirely, and no more Chosen shall be guided in the worlds you hold dear. The timelines will reconnect, the worlds stitch themselves back together, and I shall reign. It is inevitable, unless you hear me out now."_

"_How do you know all this? ...Nevermind."_

Velka bit down a retort, one perfect upper lip curling into a spite-filled snarl. She wanted to say He was wrong- that she was as strong as she ever was- but the Primordial Mortal was right. Not even the Darkmoon Blades could sustain her, even less since they offered prayer to Gwyndolin and not she. The Bishops, the Pardoners, were all she had, and even they were far and few as she had to build a church and a religion every new cycle- intermingled with her other duties, and helping to guide the Chosen. It was a losing battle, but even the impossibility of true success was not enough to daunt her. If Velka were to die, she was to die trying.

But perhaps it was time to try something new, within reason. When caution was too slow to succeed, become reckless and damn the winds of change.

"_I am listening, Sinner. With what do you atone?"_

Manus smiled.

"_Ah, that's better. Down to business. Simply put, I know why the Kiln failed- it took me a few cycles to piece it all together, but the gist of it is this. The Lordvessel- that golden bowl, the key to the Kiln of the First Flame. You've been trying to figure out how to bypass the lock- and you can't, can you."_

"_Would I be here if I could?"_

"_Of course not. But it takes a portion of the First Flame to reach the place where the flame needs to be born- something that can't be done with only part of it."_

"_I already knew all this. What are you suggesting, Pygmy?" _

Velka crossed her arms, intrigued despite her values and Manus's reiteration of her failings. Manus only leaned forwards, his grin malicious in the candlelight.

"_We've only got to find a way to get through the vessel with all four souls intact, don't we? Now- given that there is simply no way to get a suitable firekeeper into the locale, you've only got to think outside the box a tad. Really, with all these tools at your disposal, I'm surprised you didn't think of it sooner."_

"_You haven't told me how you know of my newfound abilities."_

"_Let us simply say I've seen it done before- and unlike you, I recognize power when I see it. Velka."_

The last word, her name, was meant to be a barb- but Velka prided herself on never forgetting a sin, regardless of origin. She could name each one of the actions scribed in that bookshelf without sparing a peek, knowing they were all in the name of gaining power for themselves. It did not change the Pygmy's words, however, and the Furtive Human was correct in all but one way.

"_Gwyn holds his own soul, a soul long reduced in each timeline. We cannot obtain it ourselves, and the Chosen never knows quite what to do with it. The moment I start another cycle, you will once again forget yourself- born anew, and once again hiding the Dark Flame. Explaining all of this to the Chosen- I cannot make manifest in a world that hardly believes in me, Manus. What you suggest is impossible. I have no direct control over the worlds. Not to any huge extent. Neither of us can guide the chosen any more than is already done. Besides- the Dark Soul is lost to us, in the fall of Oolacile."_

"_You don't need it. I'm going to give it to you, and you're only going to have to do two things."_

"_I am still listening."_

"_You've seen how some worlds start over, right, without your intervention? As if they remember what happens, and do it automatically? Worlds that you've already acted on, once before. The timelines start over again, at a certain point, just after the Last Choice is made. The Chosen Undead is the same Chosen Undead, there, somehow, and they begin all over again- with one big difference."_

"_What difference is this?"_

For the first time in the conversation, Velka had no idea what to expect. Her eyebrows raised under the black hood, turning away from the Disc for the first time. Manus was smirking like he'd trapped a rat.

"_Somehow they have Gwyn's Soul."_

"_Impossible. How would you discover this, anyway? You are long dead, before the Asylum is ever breached."_

"_No, its true, and never you mind how I know. My only guess is that, somehow, they pull it through with them when time winds back- That portion of the First Flame. I doubt they know its true value, though. The same value they place on my own soul, really, after I lose my mind each cycle and they give it to your insipid crows. Then again, it could simply be ignorance on their part. A better question would be why all of time itself seems to hinge upon their decision."_

Velka could not help but blink. Was he telling the truth? She cared little for the Worlds that reset themselves- there had been others to contend with, not the ones that had gone before. She marched ever onwards, never looking back. Had she been lax?

"_But what of your own soul? Having one portion of four- but how are we to ensure the Dark Flame reaches there at all? If the Chosen were to hold it in pure, would they not fall prey to the same madness that reached you in Oolacile?"_

"_Only if the pendant breaks, like it did then. It was their fault, really, I was supposed to be hidden for a reason."_

Wordlessly, Manus reached behind him- whipping a silvery necklace from the bookshelf and dangling it from a finger. That much of the plan, Velka could gleam- she only had to make sure the Pendant wound up in the Chosen's hands. But there was one problem. The same glaring problem that caused all of this.

"_It only solves one world at most, Manus. We would have to act in such a manner for the remainder of eternity- and I will not last so long. You know this. It is impossible. We are doomed, and perhaps even sooner, for trying."_

"_Unless you break the Disc, stitching the worlds back together, once we steal Gwyn's Soul from any single world. I'd put the Soul of Warmth in with the Dark Soul, as well- just to ensure mine has a food source and doesn't wink out. It gets hungry, you see."_

Was the human serious? If Velka broke the Disc, any number of things could happen. Surely, the myriad small changes she made to each timeline would be ignored, by virtue of the other realities overlapping it- but would there even be a Chosen? No, there had to be. There was always someone in the Asylum, no matter how different they were. It was risky, though. All-or-nothing.

"_That only gives us one chance, Pygmy. One chance, to save us all. If the Chosen Undead sides with Kaathe, with You, or gives up in the arduous quest, or does not fill the Lordvessel with the stolen Souls- the worlds will no longer be diluted, Manus. The difficulty will be nigh-insurmountable. Our likelihood of success is so close to nil it may as well be nonexista-"_

"_Are all the gods so n**ihilistic?! **Oh _forgive_ me, mistress Velka, for speaking out of turn, but I am sick and tired of it all! Throw caution to the wind! One way or another, at least this torment ends for both of us! Its a catch-twenty-two in our favor, like it or not!"_

Manus thumped the floor with his heel for dramatic effect, his face a rictus of rage and irritation.

"_Make your decision, Velka, but you'd better do it fast- wait too long, and you won't have the power left even to say 'hello'. I'm off. I've a part to play, if you'll excuse me. ...I'd suggest abandoning this world and going to a different one. Without my flame, this cycle is lost. No humanity for the Chosen, you see. I'd abandon the one you take Gwyn's soul from, too- just as a precaution. Chances are, once you Stitch everything together, we're going to have to start over again anyway."_

Velka stared blankly at the pendant dangling from her palm, as the Pygmy vanished. It thrummed with an enigmatic heartbeat, pulsed with a black light, whispered with darker secrets.

For the first time in too many years, Velka had to make a choice.


	2. 2: The First Flame

Like most deities, Velka was not what one could consider 'Good'. Neither was she evil, however- but a Deity, a real one, could easily be described as Selfish in some ways and Selfless in others. For example, it was Manus's deceit that had ruined the world of Lordran- his theft of the Dark Soul, so long ago, had doomed entire populaces to torment and endless undeath upon his demise. Slaying him herself, or sending one of her Darkmoon Blades- being the Goddess of Sin, such an act in her name would gather an incredible amount of power for her. That was the Selfish route- damning the world of Lordran for her own gain, and using her newfound powers to escape into another world entirely.

But there was a double-edged sword, to this- if she left Lordran to perish without the First Flame, Manus's sins would become hers. In this, it would sap her strength to nil, or less.

On the other hand, she could let Manus fulfill his own destiny- dying, at the hands of an unknown warrior in Oolacile, then her own actions making push to fix what horrors Manus had wrought. Manus's reprieve would also draw on her own power- when a Deity did not fill their purpose, they lost stores of energy. ...But that would have been temporary, and eventually passed.

This was the harder route. Letting Manus go, to mend the world. It was the only reason she let him be, now. She could have slain him then and there, and left for good- but if she did, the timelines of Lordran perished by the billions.

For the first time in so many years myriad rewritten, Velka knew she had no choice but to lose...

...Or accept.

* * *

Lord Gwyn's burning soul danced among the fingers of one long-fingered hand, weak and yet...

Still somehow strong, as if it refused to die. As if the burning spirit itself rejected the idea of being taken by death, as if death was no match for its sheer rage at such treatment. It was the soul of a God, of a Hero, of a Warrior and a King.

"_Lord Gwyn, you truly were a great man. A pity that your own pride took you, in the end. Did you truly think you could match a force of the cosmos? A phenomena of nature? Did besting the dragons simply give you too much hope? I ask a fallen, dead man. Of course you cannot answer."_

She had taken it from a Chosen, from one of many failed Timelines. A hollow, in full black armor and a ragged hood. The scythe nearby had been useless, against the Goddess, even as Chaos-filled as it was. It had been a matter of moments to merely stroke the hollow on one rotted cheek, forcing the pseudo-reaper to slumber forever.

The pendant would open, in the Chamber of Redemption. Inside was a perfect black candlelight, minus the candle. It did not even make the crisp crackles and snaps of a true flame, the same that Gwyn's did now. Carefully, Velka held it at arm's length- inspecting the Dark Soul.

The fire was gorgeous, even to her. It altered the light, bent and twisted it inward until it seemed almost to radiate the void itself. The antithesis of a real flame, that gifted light and shadow to the world. This flame made the surfaces it could not reach **brighter**, somehow.

The Goddess knew she could not touch it. It was too strong, even for her. The whispers, in her mind, spoke of untold virility and strength were it to even stroke a single inch of skin, that it could all be hers with but a moment's choice. It was all lies.

_Touch me. Go on, _it seemed to say.

_Rule the world. Become the darkness, and bend all minds towards you. It would be easy._

_Never wonder again, whether your strength is enough to continue. Be eternal, the Goddess not of sin, but of the World._

Velka snarled.

"_And become the Mother of the Abyss? As filled with deception and hate as Manus? A creature sustained by rage and lies? I am not so foolish. Your tyranny of the Worlds is at an end, Black Flame. I know you, and name you. You are Selfishness. And now?"_

In one, quick motion, the soul of Gwyn, the Bright Flame, clashed with darkness. In the cup of her hand, with only the pendant's thin metal frame between her palm and the battle, chaos reigned. The flames were warring for supremacy over one another, the disparity causing a strobed nightmare everywhere the angry lights could reach. White against Black, Light against Dark, both evenly matched and impossibly strong until slowly, surely, like oils, they began to lose their vigor and meld together in a calm crimson.

Of course. Every flame required fuel. The bauble closed with a snap, a crackling of an aggravated flame-soul entirely outraged at the idea of being encapsulated. Velka cared little. If the Dark Soul could survive in such a thing for so long, so could the First Flame- if that was indeed what it had become. It hadn't, of course. Even though the yin and yang of these two Lord Souls fed from one another and were stronger for it, they required two more before being complete- but the moniker of 'First Flame' could suit it, for now.

Now, there was one final thing to do. The most important action she could take here, without which it would all be meaningless.

Velka raised her rapier in her right hand, the warm pendant clutched in her left.

And seconds later, the Disc shattered like so much glass.

The Worlds shook.


	3. 3: The Hollow

How to describe the clash of realities that converged on one another, Velka at the center like a cat between infinite onrushing trains? To be at the epicenter of such a terrible cataclysm was beyond even a goddess's potential preparation, and raising her hands in front of her hooded face was a pitiable defense.

Like breaking glass. Like the shattered surface of a once-still pond, disrupted by a boulder. She felt herself being torn this way and that, at once flung in every direction with a malevolent ignorance of physics and momentum. Every atom in her manifested body, pulled away from her simultaneously, and then...

On all fours, she crawled- snatched up her rapier and the pendant, coughing white ichor onto the tile of her home. Pain was inevitable. Nothing could survive the crush of reality without a little torment, and Velka was not immune- but she was, at least, understanding of it. Pain would eventually fade, and she had to know the future. She **had** to.

Curled up into a ball on the stone of an old, well-traveled shrine within the mended timelines, Velka sent out her mind, as well as self- not just anywhere, but to a very specific place. One of the many Asylums that dotted the landscape of the world, the one betwixt Catarina and Astora. This was an important place. It held a cell, one that remained constant throughout all of the Worlds.

Worlds that were singular, now, their realities multiplied until the truth came free. No longer was the Chosen's path a mere trial. It would be a gauntlet, with foes too dangerous and too many to count for just one hollowed soul. The Chosen of the mended realities would have to be nigh a god, inviolate, a tactician, a warrior and a selfless angel. In a few words, Gwyn would have been almost perfect.

Velka's eyes opened to look through the Cell's barred door, and she only had the strength left to groan.

"_O~h, no."_

The battle had ended, before it began. Velka, her manifested form fading while the Hollow still slept within.

They were doomed, and she had nothing left to change events further.

Velka was powerless.

In retrospect, she should have heeded the Pygmy's warning of hunger- the pendant, pulsing warmly in her fading hand.

* * *

Her name was lost to her, now. How long had she sat here, in this cell, while her eyes slowly rotted from their sockets? How long had her flesh rotted, fusing to the floor like glue? How long had it taken, for her clothes to become only so many rags?

She didn't know.

Perhaps one blessing of her curse was that, eventually, she wouldn't care, either. Her mind was growing dimmer, her emotions and feelings being replaced only by a hunger so intense for the lives of others that she could hardly think, and there was no one to hunt in this five-by-five cell, and so she only sat.

They hadn't even bothered to chain her, as even in life she was no force to be reckoned with. That was the most she could remember, other than the surroundings that never changed. The repeating sound of the Asylum's guardian stomping to and fro, forever watching the annals of the prison and feeding off the refuse with abandon. Occasionally, a cell would break- the hapless prisoner within breaking free to wander, but hers never did. The reinforced bars were too thick and strong, for any test of time to break them. She was stuck here, no better than a tortured statue in a room none would ever see. A room no one had any further interest in. They had stopped bringing new undead to the Asylum some time ago.

A dim, dark room with no bed, no faculties whatsoever. She had long since stopped needing to find empty corners and secret locations to do her business in, however, and her nose had ceased function some time ago. That was another blessing of the curse. Everything eventually faded, except her eyesight, eyes or no. Not that it mattered- it was too dark to see the-

_**CRASH.**_

-tumbling of rubble into the center of the room, a blinding shaft of light scouring the room of shadows and darkness. Surprise was, unfortunately, still with her. Shocked, the eyeless sockets of a hollow stared upwards, unblinking as her sudden motions caused further clumps of hair and skin to fall from her head and neck.

She stared.

A knight? The closed helm was unmistakable, somehow pristine though he was obviously bleeding black from whatever struggle had put him on the roof of the asylum. Another hollow- his blood brackish, from congealing though he was not dead. The hollow below felt, somehow, as though she should have thanked the Knight for this glimmer of hope, but words were beyond her. Her vocal cords had rotted away long ago and therefore were useless. The most she could do was stand, and raise one hand in some semblance of a wave- but her body moved too slowly.

The knight was gone, long before her rear had come free from the stone and left a good portion of its sickly flesh behind. It should have hurt- but, again, some curses held hidden blessings. Alone she was again, but now...

Now it was bright enough to see.

Bright enough to see the fallen rubble from the cave-in, the hollowed corpse of an Asylum denizen sprawled atop it- one broken iron bar in the left hand, a ring of keys clutched in the other. It must have taken her an hour, to work together the rotted braincells she needed to loot the dead- but loot it she did, eventually ripping off one rotted arm from the corpse rather than attempt to unclench the rigor mortised fingers from around the keys.

Keys. Door. She could leave, too. She could join the wandering undead of the Asylum, until such a time as the Guardian consumed them all. One fate, exchanged for another.

Anything was better than this.

Fumbling for the lock of the door was an agonizingly slow process, and she had quite the mind to give up when she pushed in the first key and it refused to budge. Fifteen minutes, it took to manage that first key with her rotted fingers- but then again, all she had was time. Another thirty, for another failed attempt. A third failure. A fourth. A fifth. A si-

Click. SHUNK.

The sound of the lock undone was almost enough to give her joy, for the first moment in a lifetime. Joy she could no longer feel. Nonexistent joy was impossible to break, when she pushed her body against the door to open it.

And felt resistance, as the door rattled.

She pushed again, harder. It could have been stuck, after all. The iron bars had been motionless for years, and had likely rusted to the point of impossibility. Nothing. She tried pulling- and while the door gave further, her body weight was far too low to yank it open. Being hollow had some disadvantages, as well. She must have weighted a mere fifty, at most, so far gone was she.

But, keys or no, she was still stuck. Helpless, but to watch through the bars. The poor hollow didn't even have the rage she needed to beat senselessly against them. She could only stare at the undead beyond, as they stood and turned towards the racket of the door, so slowly. One of them was holding something shiny, but she couldn't quite make it out in the dim hallway beyond.

They were as senseless as she, certainly. Interested, but too stupid to do anything about her. Likely, they had been put into this place before she was.

You might have been wondering how long it took for her rotted brain to piece together these considerations, and unfortunately discover that she never did. Such musings never came to her, as her mind was still preoccupied with the door itself. Eventually, she would decide to shake the door and dislodge some of the rust- a futile attempt, to be certain, but such was the racket she made...

Almost in unison, the milling hollows turned in the hallway, breaking into a sprint. What they saw in her, she didn't know- but it was certain they were violent, and their aim to kill her. Whatever remained of her survival instinct caused her to back up, away from the bars, knowing they would eventually give u-

_**SLAM.**_

The door exploded inwards, five hollows toppling through in a ball of limbs and rotted flesh. Some could scarcely handle the impact, and shattered upon twin impacts- first the door, then down the stairs and into stone. Others were knocked senseless, standing only to stumble about and take idle swipes at the others- who responded in kind. She could only act but to watch, as one by one the surviving undead aimed misguided vengeance upon the others- leaving only one, who had slain the other two that hadn't succumbed to the floor's resistance. It seemed smarter, somehow. Less dead, mayhap. Was it the object it held in its' left hand?

All she knew was that she had to have it. She could feel its warmth from even here.

The hollow was helpless to stop her, as what passed for undead instinct guided her hand towards the half-bar held by the knight's quarry. A weapon, however poor. A heavy object. It could only raise one hand as if to protest, when she reached behind her for the downward swing...

...And brought the bar howling downwards into her victim's cranium. A shower of decomposed gray matter, and the rusted bar snapped with the force she'd put behind it. Useless, now, the upper half lodged somewhere in the undead's skull. She dropped it, already reaching for the warmth.

Warmth was good. Warmth meant fire. Fire was life.

Even the dead could desire to live.

Clutching the egg-shaped charm of a silver necklace, the hollow turned towards the now-open door and ventured beyond. Were she of a better mind, she might have felt bliss, despair, fear or hope. As it was, however, she only felt the need to move. To wander, and seek more warmth. Heat. Once the undead had a taste of it, they could not help but hunger for it. The hunger had claimed her utterly.

On she walked, while the door's keys still jangled in the keyhole- she'd left them behind. On she walked, while the undead arose behind her once more to again carry out their warped mimicry of survival. She would be long gone before they discovered her.

You couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting the dead, in here. Bodies were strewn about the hallways like disgusting decoration, and not all of them were motionless. Some of them carried out their last mental anguishes, mindlessly striking the doors or howling at the madnesses that had overtaken their minds. Still others tore at themselves, shedding skin and black blood onto the stone as if they wanted nothing more than to die permanently. One dead soul endlessly stabbed at another body with a rusted dagger, as if somehow the thousands of perforations would result in victory. Maybe the last one was simply sadism.

None of these presented her with difficulty. She was hollowed enough, and moved fast enough, that any attention she garnered was fleeting at best. Not even the cesspool could cause her much trouble, slowing her gait to a mere stumble only until she worked up the mental strength to crawl. The ladder, though...

That was a problem. She was light, true, but several times her ill-tuned limbs missed the rungs and sent her tumbling back to the excrement-stained waters. Another thing she would have to take slow, even five minutes per movement. She wanted to-

No. She **needed** to get above. This fact was made apparent as her ankle was suddenly stuck.

Slowly, her head looked down- An iron dagger had lodged itself behind her achilles tendon, and been pulled on by a certain sadistic undead. It was beyond her, to growl, or scream. She hadn't the mental capacity or voice to do so- the most she could manage was to keep climbing, in the possibility she could manage it faster than the one below.

A hand grabbed her ankle, around the torn tendon and exposed bone. Instinctively, she kicked, pulling on the rungs with all her might to drag herself upwards with one useless foot. The thud of her heel into one empty eyesocket told her nothing, save that she had earned herself a bit more time.

It was the world's slowest struggle, this fight upon the ladder.

That did not make it any less exhilarating when she finally reached the top.

It was coming to her, gradually, that something was pulling her onwards. Something was beckoning her, pushing her, calling out to be found. The bauble in her hand was growing hotter, somehow, as if in anticipation of something. Despite any misgivings that might have claimed her rotted head, the hollow found herself limping onwards, out into a courtyard of sorts. It was snowing, and yet it mattered little. The hollow was warm, and the fire called.

It was a pitiful pile of ashes, in the end, that she limped and shambled towards. A small cluster of bones and skulls long reduced to white powder, skewered into the ground by a longsword as if to mark it forever. What was now a mere match's flame must have once burned as high as a pillar, for the heat had twisted the blade into a spiral and long ruined it for use.

She fell to her knees in the patchy snow, before it. It was almost singing to her, now. Soothing and stroking the hunger within her, as if to alleviate what would never go away.

Mindlessly, senselessly, she scuttled forward on her knees until she was right next to the flame...

...And touched the sword.


	4. 4: The Healer, The Guardian

Fire had long since been believed sacred by all in Lordran. Even in Astora, Vinheim, Zena and Catarina, the bonfire was as holy a thing as it was a necessity. Often, villages cropped up around such relics as easily as one would a plentiful farming area or lake. In many ways, residents who lived around a bonfire lived just as well, if differently, than other claims to security. The bonfire kept ill-minded and vicious creatures at bay, letting inhabitants survive in peace- eventually becoming towns, cities and empires over time.

Even something as simple as a torch was reason enough for a priest to utter a prayer, if available.

For the undead, however, a bonfire was even more important. A bonfire brought with it sanctuary, warmth and peace.

If the undead was not too far gone, it brought healing, vigor and strength.

Healing of the flesh... and of the mind.

* * *

She was burning.

Her skin was on fire with glorious warmth, beautiful heat. Her mind was alight with visions, images of that which she'd forgotten as decayed braincells kickstarted themselves once more into life. She could no longer see the world around her, so far lost she was in the past. She remembered.

She remembered her name.

Her name was Helene of Catarina.

Helene was a common name, but a beloved one. Meaning 'Torch', her name had been shortened to 'Leni' by most of her friends to differentiate her from the other girls with the same name. Helene was nothing special, though, often at the edge of her circle at the best of times, and left behind in others. Failing in her schooling, worthless at magic and uninterested in battle, her family had been bound and determined to make something of her. Honor, after all, was important to the peoples of Catarina, and to have a useless daughter was quite a blight upon the 'family crest'. Not that they had ever had one- her family had never been rich, though they were at least somewhat respected amongst the lower class.

She had been seventeen when her father gave her to the convent, where Leni proceeded to be just as worthless- if not more. It was not that she had no belief in the church, it was simply that she had no aptitude for miracles. Judged faithless, Helene was never given the opportunity to even take vows and become a priestess. Instead, she was put into a hospice to learn the stitching of flesh, curing of diseases and setting of bone with less god-given means- 'grunt work', really. Any real mending was done by those with the power to channel God's will, and her needle and thread paled in comparison.

At the very least, she stayed busy. Despite her apathy towards magic and strategy, or any of the more 'honor-gaining' work in the whole of Catarina, she found that her skill with a bandage was increasing, however steadily. Being able to prolong a soldier or civilian's life for just those extra few hours until a priest arrived was something of a blessing, as far as Leni was concerned. Perhaps she was unsung, with the priests who could reattach limbs that worked, and heal gaping wounds in mere moments getting all the thanks and love...

But she was helping, and that was enough for her.

She even fell in love once, or at least in lust.

There had been a farmer's lad, only a year older than her, who had run afoul of an enraged moose and couldn't afford the miracles of the church. What had been her stitching the holes left by an antler's piercing rush became his ministrations to her own femininity.

She remembered him being attractive.

She remembered the suspicion.

'Stillborn'. Her child, dead before it had ever breathed. Such a thing was rare, especially for a nurse who only had to ask the church to receive free healing to be at the very apex of health. The curvy, strong frame of a Catarina woman was one that made childbirth easy, even if she was much more slender and mousy than other girls. Food and drink was plentiful in Catarina, and there had been no complications.

Dead children was a first sign.

The second had always been present, but was only then noticed- how often she breathed. Three times, her fellow nurses had awoken her in the bunk, worried that she'd died in her sleep.

'You weren't breathing', Conradine said.

'You used to snore', Agna said.

'Leni, I could swear you'd perished', Gertrude said.

It did not take long for them to notice how she'd been requesting healing for even the most minor of wounds that refused to mend themselves, for a month now.

They had undressed her, inspected her, and found the final Sign there, upon her sternum. The Darksign. Helene was crying, not even hollow before they chained her, threw her atop the cart of those others that had fallen victim to the curse in various states of decomposition, and shipped her off to the Asylum.

They wanted to be rid of her, and she had not even died.

Leni couldn't blame them. She had feared the Dead as well. As cruel as her fate was, she could not bring herself to hate her countrymen.

She even remembered them apologizing, before they took the chains from her arms and legs- and locked the door behind her in the Cell.

The Asylum had been pristine, then.

* * *

She was greeted by the snow, as her eyes opened.

She shivered. Rags and skin did little for the temperatures, but the burning embers so close offered what heat they had. The fire had grown larger- curling around the bent iron blade all the way to the hilt, the metal red-hot and sizzling gently.

Helene of Catarina had not felt the cold in a long time. Almost dreading to extinguish her hope, she sat upright, and looked downwards...

Her skin. The Darksign, branded plain across the brown sternum of a born-and-bred Catarina girl. It was exposed plain, over the sagging, stained and ragged shirt that barely covered one side of her chest, let alone both. A hand felt her face- fingers nervously tracing her own smaller lips, a gift from her Carim-born grandmother. Leni, more certain now with joy swelling in her chest, felt the rest of her face- stopping only when she tried to release her grip on a rather warm object in her left hand, to feel her face further.

"_Ow."_

What had possessed her to grip such a thing so tightly? Was it important? She barely remembered the item, her memories of having looted the corpse of a wandering hollow extremely dim. She must have thought it was. Whose necklace was it, anyway? This egg-shaped bauble must have belonged to someone at some point, but for the life of her, Leni couldn't bear to leave it. The little flowery engravings had cut into her lightly-bleeding palm, she'd been holding it so hard. Deciding to give in, both hands fastened the little silver chain behind her neck to let the pendant dangle just over her ill-gotten tattoo...

Wait a second.

She'd said something.

_Her voice!_

She could speak! She could talk again! She began repeating her name, the grubby sound of fresh vocal cords being worn in not dissuading her from using them. She'd had a very pretty voice, once before- she could again, with time and practice. Leni actually wanted to sing, though she'd known from a young age that she couldn't carry a tune even with a harness and bucket, and a team of fifty workmen helping.

Instead, she cried, saline liquid running fitfully down her fresh cheeks.

Not tears of sadness, of despair or loss- but of bliss.

She was as close as she would ever come to being human again.

Helene of Catarina was, for lack of a better word, Alive once more. She could go home again, maybe hide out in the wilderness and hunt for her own meals, and at least fleetingly speak with civilization! All she had to do was get out of this blasted asylum, and away from the...

Guardian. In an instant, all the hope vanished from her heart. She had no knowledge of how to fight, let alone a real weapon to practice with. No shield, no armor, and barely any clothes. The Guardian, the Demon of the Asylum, was unlikely to give her a handicap either, or a head start. Somehow Leni didn't think 'fighting fair' would be something that entered into the hellspawn's mental equation. But where there was a will...

"_There's a way."_

A Man or Woman of Catarina never gave up hope. Not a real Catarina lass. They could lose it, they could realize that something was impossible, and they could abandon one specific plan, but they always found another one. They always tried something else. They always formulated a new plan. Catarina was a Hopeful nation. In many ways, Hope was Catarina.

The Discretion of Carim didn't hurt, either.

If she found it, she would run. Certainly, a two-legged sprinting girl like her was faster than what she'd seen of that outrageous tub of lard with an axe. She had to be. She had to put her newly regained fear behind her, bite the crossbow bolt, and break free of this hellhole.

Helene of Catarina had no other choice, as her hands gripped the knobs of a massive door that lay between courtyard and chapel. What was a Catarina battlecry became a scream.

"_**Death or Glor-AAGH!"**_

* * *

_What pitiable undead had blundered its' way into the Keep?_

Gafhyugril gripped his axe in anticipation, looking down through the ruined hole in the ceiling, as the doors opened for the first time in seemingly ages. A good thing- he was growing hungry, as far fewer undead were managing to make their way here lately. Granted, there had been two on the roof earlier- but one had dispatched the other and flung them out of reach. It would have made a tasty meal, but this ruined building had its problems; namely, the collapsing structure. A poorly-timed axe swing had slammed his prey down through the roof, and Gafhyugril was far too massive to follow. Shame. Oh well, he hated prying armor off for his food anyway.

But here was another chance. Some undead female, or maybe even human. Gafhyugril would have a meal this night, surely! Unarmed, unarmored- yes, she would be quite fine. All he had to do was jump down, and...

* * *

The deafening slam of the humongous demon's rump on the stone was enough to not only cut off her shriek of surprise, but to buckle the floor. As if to taunt her own meager voice, it roared once, shaking the pillars and flooding the room with a disgusting odor.

Helene missed not having a nose.

Leni also hadn't expected to see the Guardian so soon. The room was devoid of anywhere she could hide from this cursed thing. Surely, the pillars and pots were nowhere near enough to dissuade the monstrosity; it would simply destroy them, and then promptly her. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to-

As the Demon chuckled, beginning to take slow, thudding steps towards her, she espied a door through its' legs.

An exit. Surely. A way out. If she could only get there...

_Swallow your fear, Helene of Catarina._

Leni cut forwards into a sprint, her bare feet pounding stone as hard and fast as she could. Maybe she could catch it by surprise, maybe she could confuse it, maybe-

Maybe it would raise its' axe overhead to slam her into a mush. Helene dove forwards, tucking and rolling as it stood up off its hindquarters to add more force to the swing...

Only to feel a crushing weight on her leg. The demon had sat down, its bulk forcing her body to the rocky, jagged floor. Leni felt her skin tear, her palms scrape as the nurse scrambled to escape the trap. The demon... curse it all, the demon was _laughing _at her with that horrid mouth of fangs, and she could have sworn she'd felt her shin splinter to boot.

Pain was a hard thing to deal with for someone who hadn't felt it in lifetimes, but she had to get free. She had to!

Scratching at the snow, hoping to gain enough purchase to pull herself free of that fetid rear, her fingernails broke and bled. Worse still was the sudden gash she caused herself, along her palm's right side, but every cloud had a silver lining.

A shard of glass.

Of course- this place had once had windows, and the shard was every bit as large as her forearm. Perhaps it was a weapon that couldn't be used more than once, but she had scarce time to consider the implications of her actions. The demon was already reaching behind itself, to grab her weaker body and begin dinnertime... while she was still conscious!

"_YEAGH!"_

Twisting underneath the Guardian, she swung wildly, knowing the stab would make her hand nigh-useless. Once, twice, the shard sliced across the demon's palm, the wounds surely less than papercuts to the beast above. It was still enough to cause it to pull back, and inspect the damage- judging from its howls, the attempt was surely painful...

But she was still trapped beneath its fat.

_Deep breath, Helene..._

She reached backwards, and slammed the shard as deep as she could into the monster's rump, where buttock and tail intersected. Leni was rewarded by another howl, and all she had to do was take the shard and _twist_...

* * *

Gafhyugril hadn't expected his prey to fight back. Certainly, he hadn't expected her to fight back so _viciously._ He simply wasn't used to such- usually, his onrushing bulk was enough to surprise any real warrior that braved the Asylum, and his usual meal of hollows was not one that posed a threat. One axe-swing later, and he had his dinner one way or another.

But when he had to stand up or risk another wound in such an embarrassing location, Gafhyugril knew he wanted _this_ one to _**suffer**__. Not only that, but she'd left the damn thing embedded in him! _He could feel it hanging there, right behind his tail. In a rage, he spun- and saw his quarry limping towards the exit doors, grasping a bloody hand. Here, he could pause.

Yes, break her hope...

_And then eat her.  
_

* * *

"_No, nonono... God, no..."_

Helene pulled. She pushed. She threw her body against it, leg be damned, but just like her cell this door wouldn't budge- and there was no team of hollows to hit from the other side, either. It was locked. Turning slowly, her nearly-bare back pushed against the metal in solemn heartbreak. It was only a matter of time, now.

Even the demon seemed to know it, as it ceased its angered roaring and reached into its' fat folds, producing an inhumanly large key and dangling it from one sausage finger. There was no doubt about it now. This monstrosity _was _taunting her, and there was no way she was getting that key, either; not with a splintered shin and one almost-useless hand. Helene had stabbed too hard, and cut right through a few very important muscles.

Could she make it back to the bonfire?

No, and the doors were far too large. The demon would be able to follow her, without issue. Even if they weren't, it had wings. Both areas lacked a ceiling, and she'd never escape it that way. Even if she could escape it, the bastard held the key- and there were no other ways out in that direction. She'd be eventually torn to pieces by those hollows.

"_Ugh."_

Leni had to avert her gaze as the hideous guardian dropped the key down its gullet. She got the message. 'Over my dead body', it was saying. A pity hers was more likely. But wait...

She caught something. Mostly hidden behind those huge stone pots, there was what could only have been the top of an archway. Bars, hanging from it. Was it open? There was only one way to find out, and it was going to be the most agonizing thing she'd done yet.

Helene put her weight onto that cracked shinbone... and cut into a run, screaming her anguish and fear for the whole world to hear. Her eyes were closed, before she ever reached the portcullis. She only wanted to run, and run, and run until that creature was in a wholly different country. She never saw the demon's axe shatter the pillars and pots just behind her, only heard the explosions and felt the spattering of rock shards against her unprotected skin. She heard it roar in anger, as she felt the air change from an airy room to an enclosed tunnel.

She felt her flailing, bloody hand hit something on the side of the wall, shoving it down and closing the gate behind her, then tearing off cleanly.

Leni felt her foot miss the ground. Stairs.

On the bright side, she was already screaming.


	5. 5: The Knight

Gafhyugril could not believe his luck. Three times, he failed to ensnare a meal. Three incredibly unlucky times. The last one was the worst yet; not only was such an easy quarry somehow beyond his reach, but she'd managed to injure him in the process. She'd been _right there._ Just a hand's grasp away, from being a delectable morsel. But no, Gafhyugril had decided to toy with his food rather than just chow down. Gafhyugril belched, rubbing his humongous stomach.

Now he had indigestion to boot. Swallowing the key had been a stupid move, no matter how priceless the look on his prey's face had been.

Still, all was not lost. Gafhyugril knew this place well, as it had been his hunting ground for years- what he could piece together from staring through the roof told him that this was the only exit for something that couldn't fly; he only had to wait. Humans and Undead alike were too headstrong to simply die. Eventually, she would try again- and since Gafhyugril still technically held the key, she'd have no means of permanent escape.

It would be him or her, in the end. The pitiful little mortal, or the hulking hellspawn. The future was a foregone conclusion.

Gafhyugril chuckled in anticipation, before turning his bulk towards the balcony and reaching behind him with a wince. At least it gave him time to extricate the thorn from his backside.

* * *

Undead specifically did not dream, as they did not technically need to sleep. They could force themselves into a facade of slumber, true, and many did not realize it was truly unnecessary, but the act of sleep was an unneeded one.

Unconsciousness was a different story altogether. Dead though they were, a cursed one still needed a brain to move its' body; a brain to stay conscious. Fall down a few dozen stairs hard enough and you might find yourself in the same predicament. Certainly, the agonizing pain of a crushed shinbone did not help matters in the slightest! Too much torture, and the mind would simply turn itself off until it could manage the strain.

Really, it was a minor miracle that dark-skinned Helene of Catarina had made it this far. A lesser woman might have lost her wits while still trapped under the Guardian's flab.

"_Ungh..."_

Rousing was not the easiest thing Leni had ever done. Coming back to the world meant coming back to the pain, and she had to resist simply staying comatose until she hollowed once more. In the end, it wasn't her own will that beckoned her back to this foul mockery of life she lived; it was the pull of a new flame, however dim. Through a red-rimmed vision, at the bottom of the steps, she could easily see another thin pile of ashes just barely out of reach. All she had to do was crawl to it, damn the pain.

Leni briefly considered that she might have spent more time on all fours now than she had spent walking. What would her father have said?

This one, too, had been skewered by a twisted iron blade. Were the swords symbolic? She could hardly give the question due consideration, so hazed was her vision and mind with stress. It didn't matter, really. If she touched the handle, the bonfire would flare into life, and all her pain would go away. It was all that mattered...

An hour, down there in that murky room at the end of the stairs. An hour curled up into a ball while Leni's scrapes and cuts slowly stitched themselves together. An hour listening to the burps and roars of the demon above. So close to the bonfire she lay that one could almost swear she was on fire herself; but the bonfire could not harm an undead, only heal it.

That wasn't the focus of her attention, anyway. Laying on her side, halfway across the ashes, the bauble she'd fastened to her neck was turned this way and that between already-healed hands. Really, she was only waiting for her leg now. The occasional twinge of pain told her the bonfire, however weak, was doing the best it could.

How pretty was it? A little egg-shaped silver thing, engraved with all manner of floral spirals and leaves. There seemed to be a seam where it could be opened, but Helene couldn't find the catch or lock. Despite her best efforts, it remained sealed; invulnerable to her prying fingers. She briefly considered finding a rock and smashing it open, but it would be a shame to break such a beautiful work of silver and find nothing within. Besides, it felt weightless, and nothing rattled inside- it was probably empty.

But why did it seem to have a heat of its own? Almost like a heartbeat, but without the pulse- only a gradual swelling and diminishing of warmth.

"_What a strange little pendant you are."_

Still, it held no answers for Leni. Idly, she dropped the pendant to hang once more between her meager breasts, moving her complaining shinbone closer to the ashes.

Helene wished that demon would quiet down, already.

* * *

It didn't take long for Helene to discover what her flailing hand had struck on the way down the stairs. A lever, once attached to the wall- the gate that had closed wouldn't be raising again, anytime soon. The handle was wooden, however, and so could produce a suitable blessing. Helene had found her namesake; a torch. She had to be careful with it. Fire taken away from the piles of ash lost their healing properties, and instead burned to the touch. An oddity of flame's rules, but the reasoning was lost upon her. All she knew was that it was a serviceable light weapon, in the event that she had to defend herself from hollows on this next leg of her venture; a moment she prayed would not come to pass.

Not only that, but it let her actually see where she was going for however long it would last. There would be no further tripping down stairs, thank you so very much!

Without a map, though...

"_Where in the hells is this taking m-AUGH!"_

Going from darkness into light was hard on the reformed eyeballs of Helene, and it had taken her a few seconds too long to adjust. Those few seconds were all it took for a well-aimed broadhead arrow to almost find its target- her cheek. Leni's blood spattered the snowy ground once again, before she managed to instinctively pull back, putting the wall of the archway between herself and the archer.

One hand whipped to her cheek, feeling the deep slice, and coming away red.

"_Demons behind me, dead before me. Is nowhere safe, now?"_

A fast glance around the corner told the nurse it was indeed one of the hollowed, with some sort of bow. It also told her the undead had very good reflexes for one so long-decomposed, another arrow screaming through the air where her head once was before she pulled back a second time. Bastard. Unarmored as she was, without even a shield, there was no way in all likelihood she'd ever get close enough before the thing managed to put one between her eyes.

But if Helene could somehow take it down... that bow might have been the answer to the demon problem she'd been having. Granted, she'd never been a dab hand at archery- Leni's pitiable attempts at several of the festival games of Catarina told her that much- but if there were enough arrows she could scavenge off the hollow's corpse, surely at least one of them would hit something vitally important on that oversized bucket of lard. She might have even been able to snipe it through the closed gate, if she were suitably patient and blessed by lady luck.

That hollow needed to go. The initial pang Helene's conscious gave her over affirming such a course of action was justly ignored; now was not a time for nursing, it was a time for survival (ignoring her own nonliving state, that is). But how? It was too far a distance to try throwing rocks, and maybe give the hollow a good thump on the noggin. Leni had a poor throwing arm, anyway. There was nothing else for it; she needed to find a shield- There!

The cells along the outer area where the Hollow had set up range were mostly broken open, and she could see bodies beyond most of them from another brief glance. Some of them looked long dead; others obviously taken by arrows. This one had obviously been at it for a little while. If she could just get to one of those cells... she could use them as cover, and continue to advance!

"_**Catarinaaaa!"**_

Perhaps the battlecry had been a mistake once more; she could feel the stress on her cheek tearing it wider, but Helene was far too overcome with adrenaline to care too much. She cut a diagonal path straight across, from the archway to the nearest cell, ignoring the sense of dread when another howling rod of death came whipping towards her. She didn't even watch, and only dove with her torch held high. Her stomach hit the snow; the arrow clattered off stone. Safe!

At least, safer now!

Helene of Catarina might not have been a warrior, or a mage, or even a very good student; but godsdamn it all, she learned quickly, and knew how to make use of her surroundings! Why, even now, she was still alive- ...and just as quickly, her exuberance faded away. There was no time for celebration, yet. The Hollow likely hadn't given up, and she still had a good fifty foot sprint to the archer. Peering out around the door, she could tell that all the cells were down at her end; farther along, the branching doorways ceased to offer cover. This strategy would only work for half the distance. The Carimite in Helene told her that she shouldn't make what distance she could and hope things all worked out in the end; the Catarinian in her said she'd damn well better get a plan in order, then.

* * *

_They'd called him the Eagle._

Guardsman Gregory, the Eagle of Astora Asylum. Old Eagle-Eye, the Ace in a Break. Maybe he'd not been the best soldier, but in the Asylum his comrades showered nothing but praise on the old warrior. Sure, his knee was long-since blown out from a Berenike mace, but his aim was still true. His aim was always true. Able-to-hit-a-target's-center-at-four-hundred-pace s-with-one-eye-closed, old Eagle Eye. Called-shot-to-the-ankle, old Eagle Eye.

No Darksigned prisoner escaped from the lower cells on his watch, and if they did they never got more than three paces down the hallway before they were suddenly missing their hamstrings. Even when his comrades fell one by one to the darksign, old Guardsman Gregory never gave up his post. His duty was to watch the cells, and so watch them he did. If anyone gets loose, take them down fast and hard. No undead could roam the countryside. None.

Eventually, it had dawned on him he was the only one left. It didn't matter; he had a job to do. His friends were counting on him. Astora was counting on him. He could never give up his post. As the years wore on he considered that, perhaps, he was shooting some of his hollowed comrades; that the cells no longer had inmates, as they had fallen into ruin; that the asylum was falling apart, and he along with it.

He might have wondered why, after so long, he'd stopped feeling the need to eat. The need to breathe, or sleep. It didn't matter; it only made his duty easier. Gods, how Astora would smile on him when they discovered that after all this time, he'd been here taking care of the place. His bow and arrows, against the horde of undead imprisoned here. 'Guardsman Gregory', they would say. 'Guardsman Gregory, the Eagle of Astora, you have done us the greatest service ever achieved. We have a medal for you, for distinguished service.' Then, they would carry him off home, and appoint him as general, for what better position could you put a man who single-handedly defended a place from an immortal horde?

Thoughts such as this could wait; there was another Hollow, outside its cell. Gregory fired a warning shot, to drive it back into its cell. Of course it didn't listen- they never did. Not knowing that his voice had decayed far beyond use, he rasped at the intruder a 'Halt, in the name of Astora', never realizing that what issued forth was only a dangerous, wordless moan. He took aim and fired again, as the surprisingly fast hollow sprinted from the basin across to a cell. This one was smarter than the others; more fleet of foot, as well.

And sterner of constitution, Gregory found. It moved slower, now, as it exited the cell it had dived into. Thunking arrow after arrow into its chest and head availed nothing; indeed, it never even slowed. Was the hollow so far gone it could no longer even feel pain? Gregory had no idea, and didn't care. He knew arrows, and he knew bows. When in doubt, he stood his ground; and there was never any doubt in his mind, anymore.

Closer it crept, the wheezing and strain from its voice as the arrows took its toll obvious even to his battered senses. The poor soul looked like a pincushion now, its feet gliding slowly across the ground towards him. Surely, any moment it would stop and fall over; the undead were like this, it took several moments for them to realize when they should perish sometimes. Came with the curse, he'd supposed long ago. He nocked another arrow, rasping a wordless threat, but in his mind it was a prayer for whatever tortured mind this was to finally find peace.

All this ended when the hollow suddenly leapt upon him, crushing him against the stone. At the end of his story, Guardsman Gregory was too far gone even to know he was destroyed. His mind was congratulating him, for finally ending the hollow threat.

Madness could be kind, in the same way that curses could be blessings.

* * *

Helene took a pause, hands on her knees. The body had been bulky, heavier than she thought, and several times those arrows had come awfully close to going right through the dried skin and muscle. She'd had to not only lift the poor thing the entire way, but also hold it at arm's length. Any closer, and the makeshift shield would have done little good!

For all the effort, though, her opponent was still stupid; standing stock-still all the way up until the point where she took the final effort and collapsed her dead bulwark atop it. Now they were both motionless, and the bow was hers. A bow, and five much-repaired arrows that had somehow survived breaking in their multiple impacts. Four of them, she had to pry out of her own 'shield', not counting the twenty or so that snapped under her attempts.

It was still more than Leni thought she'd get, even if it was nowhere near enough for her unskilled hands. Now, to go and get her torch from that cell before it burned through.

...Too late. Helene had taken far too long with that bowman, and the torch had fallen over at some point. The entirety of it was aflame, making it unusable. A sad thing, considering her intended use for it had never come to pass. Perhaps it hadn't been needed, but she'd hoped it would last at least a little longer!

So- one bow, five arrows, none of which she was skilled with. If the worst came to pass, maybe she could bludgeon with the weapon, or stab with an arrowhead- but what good that would do, she had no idea. Certainly very little, against the demon. There was nothing left to do but press on, leaving the arrow-riddled body lying next to the undead archer.

Well, this was something new. Or rather, a new look on something she'd passed already. Going up the stairs had taken her even higher, of course, but Helene only now realized she'd gone full circle. The courtyard had an upper walkway; Leni hadn't noticed before, given her mental state. Down below, she could see that first bonfire that still blazed merrily from her initial passing. It took an effort of will, to not try climbing down and have another rest beside it. Her scraped feet and sundered cheek still gave the occasional stab of pain. Whether it was just her cursed nature pulling herself towards the flame, or something else she didn't know; but she had to resist. Press forwards, not backwards. There was nothing for her, in her wake.

Slow, careful footsteps took Helene about the upstairs cells, her eyes not wanting to peer within. If the state of each enclosure was anything like her own beginning, such a sight would only serve to dishearten her. Wait, what was that...? A tripwire? She'd almost stumbled on it.

A rumbling noise, coming closer. Leni spun wildly, wide eyes towards the noise-

_**CRASH.**_

-And dove, seconds before an oversized steel ball came crashing down the ramparts and into one of the cells. Ignoring the fresh scrapes on her bare knees and hands, Helene scrambled to her feet and crouched to run, certain that the cell would unleash some fresh new evil...

...And there was nothing. No muffled groans of disturbance, no shuffling of hollowed feet. Either she was far beyond the point in which most hollows shambled, or they were all preoccupied. There was simply no way the undead wouldn't have been able to hear it. Perhaps that trap had crushed whatever soul had been imprisoned in the cell? It was worth a look; perhaps they had a decent set of clothes, for starters.

Creeping up to the wall, Helene took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever horror could lay beyond.

"_Another hollow? ...No... sweet irony. A nude angel, to greet me as I lose my mind to the dark curse. Come closer, angel. I would see you in full, afore I perish for the last time."_

She knew this one, however dimly. Even through the haze of her previous broken mind, there was something iconic about that closed burgonet, that blue pixane, that told her she recognized him. Despite his rather lewd observation, Leni was simply too awestruck at the moment to do much about it.

"_The Knight... I remember you."_

"_Wait- you know me?"_

"_You freed me. Through the roof..."_

Was it a trick? Was she hollowing herself, now? The last thing she'd expected to see in the Asylum was a friendly face, but here was a man with his mind obviously intact. The signs all pointed to her going mad, or worse. In defiance of these considerations, her feet plodded forwards- hands not even bothering to cover what her clothes could not. There was a time and a place for modesty, and it was decidedly not in the hell of hollows.

"_That was you? A happy accident, then. ...I confess, I could barely see. This helm does wonders for defense, but as far as sight goes it is far from perfect. You were hollowed then, were you not?"_

"_I got better."_

A shuddered, aching laugh from the Knight. Helene even nervously chuckled herself, embarrassed by her own bravado. Probably best not to let him focus on her- she was only getting uncomfortable.

"_What in lost Izalith are you doing here? You're from Astora, if I'm any judge, from your Standard. You can't be an undead inmate, they stopped bringing new cursed to the Asylum long ago."_

The Knight breathed in, as if about to admit something terrible and important. What could Helene do, but listen? He had freed her, after all.

"_Forget that, my sweet angel. There is far more importance here, than myself and my own failed attempt at glory. My time grows short- my fall through the roof, I'm afraid, has entirely ruined me. There is no way I can go on- not with one good arm, broken ribs and useless legs. I need, now more than ever, someone to carry my torch."_

"_G-go on... I'm listening, Knight, I'll do anything."_

"_The Curse is more widespread, now. The world... it is failing. The skies grow dim. The fires die. We are all doomed, angel. Doomed, unless..."_

"_Unless...?"_

"_Unless someone can ring the Bell of Awakening, in the Land of Ancient Lords, to discover the fate of the Undead. ...I can no longer do this. But someone has to, or the world dies. You have to. Or find someone who can."_

Helene gaped. Her?! She could barely swing a sword, let alone embark on a dangerous quest to save the world- it had taken everything in her to even get this far! 'This far' meaning running in circles around an asylum guarded by a demon she couldn't avoid!

"_Y-you've got the wrong girl, Knight of Astora. I'm no warrior, I-"_

"_You've the heart of a lion, angel, to have survived this long. And I would be disastrously inattentive to not give you what I could. You obviously lack the strength to wear my armor, or carry my arms- but I have this, and t'is better than either of them."_

From his belt, the Knight's one operable hand withdrew a deep green bottle, quarter full of swirling orange mist.

"_What is-"_

"_Estus. The dregs of a bonfire's flame, safely ensconced within enchanted glass. You can carry the healing embers with you, now... I would have supped of it myself, but alas the mists can only heal the flesh- not the bones that now jut from my skin. Soon, the Sign will claim me for good, as my heart has long since ceased to beat fresh blood into my veins. Blood loss- a slow way to Hollow, no? I rot as we speak, angel. ...But take this flask, and the key at my waist, and mayhap you can save us all... or find someone who can. ...Now get going, lass, lest you fall victim to me. I would hate to harm you, after death, and I can't have long. At the very least, it will be a painless transition. Fret not for me."_

Helene had grabbed the flask almost out of reflex when it was proffered, such was her rapidly-learned scavenging nature. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all that the one who'd effectively rescued her, however accidentally, would be not only seen before he died- but also be so kind. Perhaps he was a little on the naive side, to think she'd somehow escape this place with naught but healing potions to help her, but still. She already considered the well-spoken knight too good to just... go hollow.

Helene of Catarina kneeled, placing the green jug on the stone floor. At least there was a hole in the ceiling, here- she'd need light to do her work, for Helene of Catarina was done being useless.

"_No."_

"_P-pardon?"_

"_I said, **No.**"_

"_Ah. I... see. Perhaps I was too hopeful. Please, then, leave me be, angel- I still would not hurt you, if I could avoid it."_

Leni growled, struggling to unstring her bow as the pendant pulsed warmly against her sternum. Eventually she decided it hardly mattered whether she unstrung it first, or not- she was going to need it in sections anyway. Taking both ends, she snapped the ancient wood into twin splints over one knee after a handful of failed attempts.

"_What are you- Angel, you need to leave-"_

"_First off, Knight, my name is Helene. I have watched and been subjected to far too much cruelty these past years to let another mishap pass me by. Either lie still, or help me get your armor off."_

"_Helene... is that not a Catarinian name for-"_

"_Torch. Yes."_

"_How apt..."_

She snapped the arrows as well, before removing what remained of her soiled garments and using the arrowheads to cut them into serviceable strips of cloth. Dark as it sounded, she didn't need to bind the whole of him in splints- just his legs.

"_But you've obviously no talisman with which to heal, Helene, and we undead cannot mend ourselves. You're wasting your time, as well as your- your clothes..."_

"_Shut up and do as I say, Knight of Astora! I may be no angel, but godsdamn the fates, I am a nurse! Just be grateful you're past the point of pain, because we've got a bit of a march ahead of us. ...And do stop ogling me, you're really not doing either of us any favors. **Lie still, **and pray that your 'estus' is as good as you say. Come to think of it, you should down a sip- replenish some of your missing blood, buy us a little more time."_

"_W-well. So much for bedside manner, I suppose..."_


	6. 6: The Bonfire

"_Huh That is... gross. Let's... not remove your armor entirely. Just the leggings. I hate to say it, but judging from this pool of blood..."_

"_It is all that is holding me together, hm?"_

"_Quite."_

"_I must admit, you're not like many other Catarina citizenry I have had the pleasure of meeting. Most are... more jovial, I suppose. And certainly more given to muscle."_

"_And polite?"_

"_I did not say that."_

"_You didn't have to. Still, spend a lifetime in a hole in the wall behind a locked door and see how you fare."_

"_A point well made, Helene of Catarina. My apologies."_

Helene paused, chewing at her slit cheek. The sharp ache was enough to kickstart her mouth into uttering a question that had been pulling at her for a short while, as she grabbed both of the Knight's boots and pulled hard.

"_What's your name?"_

"_My name?"_

"_Well, seeing as you already know **mine,** I'm naked, you're about to lose your pants, and we're sitting in the middle of a hollow-infested asylum while a rather angry demon lounges in front of our only exit, I'd say we've long passed the point of pleasantries and introductions, wouldn't you? Might as well play catch-up while I'm trying to get your body in working order. So what's your name?"_

"_Ah, I see- keeping me busy, are we?"_

Of course she was. Given that the Knight was undead, like herself, and likely too hollowed to feel much- or any- of the pain any regular human would feel, the only way she could judge how much time they collectively had would be if Leni could keep the armored patient talking. Every act she made to mend the man would likely lessen the sands in the hourglass, after all. Like he'd said earlier, blood loss was a slow way to die. The act of healing could quicken it as easily as it could stop it.

"_If we run out of things for you to talk about, you could always start praying."_

"_Never was much of a god's man. Perhaps I was idealistic, but a warrior such as I would tend to put more faith into the strength of their arms than they would a higher power that might not even be listening. Less now, that I fell victim to this... state of being."_

"_Sounds familiar."_

What manner of god would allow such a fate to happen to any devout believer? Certainly not one worth believing in. 'Ineffable plan' was a cop-out, a broken record of meaningless excuses. It had only taken that first year of sitting in a cell for Helene to realize that.

"_Oscar."_

"_Eh?"_

"_Oscar. Oscar of Astora. Fifty-first Lancebreaker of the Astoran Legion."_

"_Lancebreaker? Isn't that a front-line commanding officer of sorts?"_

"_You have an interest in military tactics, hmm?"_

Helene grumbled, inspecting what she had to work with. The rotted legs of Oscar wouldn't be doing any favors, especially as ragged as they were with jutting bone. She'd have to do what she could- and carry him, or drag him, if it turned out he couldn't walk after all. At the very least, he was wearing underclothes. She only had to resist the smell, by way of disgust.

"_Hardly, but that didn't stop my father from trying. Throw enough mud at a wall, and eventually some of it will stick."_

"_Aha. Well, in the interest of serving your demand for speech, I will continue. ...Yes, a front-line officer. A place where I could do little harm to an army, really. The first in, the last out, and generally a throwaway detachment. I only had... ten men, if you count myself. They couldn't be rid of me nor my recklessness, you see, until they discovered my Sign. My grandfather was the one who slew the Evil Eye."_

"_Feathin? The archer?"_

"_The one and same. He was made a minor lord for the deed, and... well, his progeny guaranteed a place of 'honor', even if we were no longer at war with Carim or Berenike."_

"_Never understood that war. Wasn't Thorolund involved, as well?"_

"_Only in a theoretical sense. 'Their prayers supported us', I suppose you could say, but in the end it was a difference in ideals that started the whole matter- then a thousand imagined slights. Astora fought Carim very much alone, for the Thorolund clerics were too busy 'kindling' to do else. That, or-"_

"_They were too yellow."_

"_Indeed."_

* * *

Now, for the reason Leni'd broken her bow. Sure, the haphazard work she'd put into mending his legs wasn't the best; but all she had to do was push the bones as far in as she could get them, not necessarily match them up perfectly. With luck, it would be enough for the Knight to at least support his weight; she only needed to help support him.

Cutting the string of her broken bow in half with the edge of his longsword, she began tying the wood to his thighs.

"_This is not going to be pleasant, is it."_

"_What is, anymore?"_

"_Idle chatter with a comely Catarina lass, as she ministers to my broken body?"_

"_Don't flatter me, Sir Oscar, I'm no flower, and you're but halfway hollow."_

The rueful chuckle rattled about in his helm, as she finished tying the bundle of sticks to each of his legs with both string and cloth for added support. The shins were largely intact, thankfully, else Helene would have had nowhere near enough supplies- thank Lloyd for small favors, but she had a suspicion it had more to do with the knight's greaves than it did divine intervention. Now came the hard part, especially for her light frame.

"_Down another sip of that estus, to close it all off Oscar. This could take an hour or so. I'm going to need as much help as you can give me."_

She swore she could hear him wince. How much healing could he take, before he started feeling his wounds? It hardly mattered. Oscar would just have to grin and bear it- one way or another, it'd all be over soon. Uncorking the bottle for him, she tipped it up into his visor- the same way he'd done before, previously, and watched the orange mist curl outwards- inhaled through the slits.

"_A-Agh... It... hurts..."_

"_We've gotten this far, don't give up on me now! I won't let you! Just stay awake, keep talking!"_

"_I... I can't think..."_

She'd given him too much, that was certain, and if he passed out now... there was nothing else for it but to try. Spinning around, Helene placed her rear into his sundered lap and wrapped her arms behind her, under his shoulders. It would have been so much easier if she could have removed his upper mailwork, but doing so would have done more harm than good.

Now, she had to ignore so many things- including his screams of agony at such treatment, the feeling of his pixane cutting into her back and chafing her spine, the feeling of his hollowed loins pushing against her bare rear- not the most pleasant moment, by far.

But she owed him. She owed this reckless and accidental savior of hers everything she could give him, and more. That was a nurse's lot- to harm others, with the intent to eventually heal them. A far cry from the miracles of Thorolund, but it was all she had.

"_Come on- urgh- Up with you!"_

"_Hele-AGH! P-please, I am begging you- just- just let me-"_

"_No!"_

* * *

Thirty feet of this, and her limited endurance was already flagging. It really was a long way back to the bonfire, and there was no way in any hell they were going to make it. Forty feet, and she could barely stand, even with the limited stability Oscar could provide from behind her once he overcame the pain like a real warrior. Helene felt that she'd never be able to walk upright again, such was the heavy load on her back- for a hollow, the Knight was built surprisingly well, and his armor didn't help matters.

For all her bravado and sheer insolence of her own limitations, there was nothing to stop Leni from falling to her knees, gasping.

"_He-... Helene..."_

"_I... I'll be fine. Just- just need to- catch my breath."_

"_You don't- hrrgk- need to breathe, Helene."_

"_Try telling my lungs that."_

"_Tell you.. this instead. Shortcut."_

"_What?"_

"_The st- stairs. My map..."_

Helene followed his pointing hand, staring blankly back in the direction they'd both come. It took every ounce of self-control she had to avoid tossing him on the ground there and then!

"_Why didn't you say sooner?!"_

"_Thought... you knew..."_

"_Drink the rest of your damn Estus- I'm going to have to drag you."_

"_Oh no..."_

* * *

It **was** faster, she had to admit. Pulling the unconscious knight behind her down the stairs let gravity do most of the work, and all she had to do was ensure he didn't fall too far too fast. If both of them ended up in a heap at the bottom, it would have ended poorly- but down they went regardless, her prodding foot pushing open an iron gate at the bottom.

Cold, again. Leni really had to find some clothes soon, or she'd freeze solid at some point. Would all of Lordran, the Holy Land, be this cold? She didn't know or care- only considering that right here and now, she needed that bonfire's warmth. As did he. Grunting, she moved him another two feet closer. Not much farther, now. Only another ten feet, and she'd have her knight in somewhat-shining armor. Someone who could get them both out of this miserable place, for good, no matter what fool's errand he was infatuated with.

All Helene knew was that she'd follow Oscar. She owed him much more than this, whether his efforts were by accident or not.

"_You're awake. About time. I brought you your greaves, and pants."_

"_Is... is my head meant to feel like a thousand swinging hammers?"_

"_If my own experiences are any judge, it will fade."_

Leni was staring once more at her pendant, as it pulsed warmly between her fingers. This was the first bonfire Helene had seen, fully conscious- and she had borne witness to something odd indeed.

* * *

_Fire curled about her chest as she drug the comatose knight closer, searing the skin on her sternum. The darksign, the charcoal-black shape upon her deep-tan sternum, was no longer a simple ring. It was a scorching circle of fire that felt at any moment like it could combust, the pendant upon her chest only amplifying the feeling the closer she came. There was no pain, but there was an indomitable heat that she could not help but embrace._

_There'd been nothing she could have done to stop it, as her body erupted into a pyre. A burning, sizzling pillar of flame that scorched nothing, mingling and molesting the bonfire itself rather than consuming her. For a few brief instants, the combined primordial forces nearly reached the stars in the sky- then let loose their fingers of candleflame to snake across the earth, over snow and grass while melting neither. Over the slumbering body of her ill-prepared companion, until he too was a violent blaze of creation._

_Everything was fire. The air, the earth, their flesh and eyes. Her skin was near ripped asunder by disparity, twin sensations of absolute cold and inferno. Condemned and redeemed in every passing second, simultaneous. Had it lasted for more than a handful of moments, Leni feared she might have gone quite mad._

* * *

And when it ended, the Knight seemed at rest, for certain. His bare legs, no longer the reddened tone of dried muscle, but instead slowly returning to a pale peach. Her cheek, rapidly mending. His obviously destroyed thighs snapping and rejoining in their proper configuration.

Actually, that last one had been a little too sickening even for Helene, who thought she'd seen it all, to watch. She'd chosen that moment to backtrack for Oscar's mail.

"_And so it does, already. ...You have saved me, Helene. I must admit, I did not think it possible. It seems this curse does have its advantages, however twisted."_

"_Mm."_

Leni was hardly paying attention. The pendant had done something, she was sure of it. She could feel the heat in there, smugly pulsing in its sweet little shell. It had given Oscar's humanity back to him. It must have done the same for her, some time ago. But how? Why? If Helene could just open it up, maybe she'd be able to find out-

A gauntlet, on her shoulder. Jerking, she dropped the pendant against her chest to hang once more.

"_Are you alright?"_

"_A-Er- Yes. Quite fine."_

"_You seemed to have gone off on your own little venture, for a few moments. Did you hear what I said?"_

"_Y-yes. You- were talking about the Darksign."_

"_I was, some time ago. You truly were lost in your thoughts, weren't you."_

"_It has been a trying day."_

Oscar could only laugh, a decidedly less raspy, more handsome sound now that his form had been returned to him. Finishing with the last strap of his greaves, the Knight stood- Sir Oscar now every inch the hero she'd never be.

"_Well in thanks for your service to this humble knight, wondrous Helene the Nurse of Catarina, allow me to be the first to say your trials are over- my sword once again stands ready to cut our escape from this dead place. My Estus is full, my body is rested, and my shield stands before us. Come- we are almost freed."_

"_Best bloody news I've heard in lifetimes, Oscar."_


	7. Act 1 Finale

"_We're going to have to butcher it."_

"_Well, yes, I had assumed as such. Slaying the beast is crucial to our escape, is it not?"_

Helene dropped her forehead into one dirty palm. A shame that the mystical healing properties of a bonfire didn't extend to bathing. Taking a dive into one of the murky pools littering the asylum watchtowers would likely have made her dirtier, if anything, or Leni would have tried it.

"_I mean literally, Sir Oscar. It has the key."_

"_So? I had assumed that as well; else we'd have snuck away."_

"_It **ate** the key, Oscar."_

A muffled 'oh' whispered from behind the steel helm, as the knight gave pause to consider this. It was not so much the fight he feared- but what would his superiors have said if they caught him rooting about in the stomach of a demon? Unfortunately, there was nothing else for it. This day still held more horrors for them, it seemed. He could even hear the footfalls of the demon, beyond the courtyard's double doors. Thankfully, Oscar quite remembered the creature's girth; there was no possible way it could fit through the opening, and that gave them ample time to consider a course of actio-

_**WHAM.**_

* * *

Gafhugril growled. For a demon, he was exceedingly patient; few others could call such a claim, especially when prey tended to be fleet of foot and easily startled. That was why he, alone, was able to claim the Asylum as his hunting grounds. Gafhyugril had no problems waiting for meals, especially when they came in waves and were so tastefully rotted. The mold was like seasoning, really.

So what was making him so agitated? He couldn't quite understand it. Sure, it had been a few hours since he'd seen the human girl vanish from his sight, but it was not as if Gafhyugril was starving to death. Wait...

...Was that...?

The fins upon his head that served as ears flicked gently, as he rose from the squat he'd taken in front of the only entrance to the keep. Voices. Human voices, in the direction of the courtyard. They had gotten behind him? How? There must have been a little secret nook somewhere he wasn't aware of, some place he couldn't fit, a rusted gate they'd somehow managed to open. Sneaky little rats. That, or the humans had come in a big group, and only now had fully ventured inwards. Gafhyugril hoped it was the latter; his stomach was rumbling.

Gafhyugril could be sneaky, too. Well, less sneaky and more **surprising**. Sneaky had been barring the door his prey had initially entered the keep through, on the off chance that the tin-can-man had survived his fall. Surprising would be using that same door to ambush his food.

**WHAM.**

* * *

Hitting the dirt and snow would have been prudent, and Oscar's sense of danger was quite acute. Unfortunately, his training as a knight was more based around using his shield, than rolling out of the way. Trying the latter was a path of failure, given the weight of his gear. He was about to learn a new lesson.

Don't block flying doors.

Thankfully, Leni was already seated. She had a perfect view of the flying section of wood and rusted iron that exploded away from the Keep, in a shower of stone. Oscar had been correct in thinking that the Guardian wouldn't be able to fit through the door. Instead, the demon had simply enlarged it. Old stone and crumbling mortar were no match for two tons of charging hunger, wrapped in thick skin and rage.

Oh yes, rage. It hadn't taken the demon long to realize these two were familiar.

"_Oscar! **Oscar!**"_

Pulling herself upright as quickly as she could, screaming his name the whole way, shards of rock and splinters of wood embedded in the forearm she'd used to shield her face, Helene couldn't help herself. Bare feet tore off the newly-rubble-strewn courtyard to her comrade's side, the beast howling in anger and glee at having found its previous quarry. No doubt they would be paying for her shard of glass, soon.

Several things were readily apparent when she slid to her knees, hands on his shoulders to shake him. For one, the knight was largely uninjured, and entirely conscious. Whatever make his shield was, it had taken all but a minimal amount of the force from the destroyed wood. Enough to knock him over; not enough to hurt him, other than the usual amount gravity's meddling caused. The other thing she noticed was that his shield was gone. The impact must have been too much, still, for his hand. But other than what seemed to be a light stun, Oscar was for the most part uninjured.

The Knight had realized a few things as well, as the demon came bounding across the grass. Getting to his feet, old strategies and tactics were coming back to him like a flood.

Rule of battle number 1: When outmatched by an opponent, without superior numbers, in an indefensible location, without the rules of an honorable duel, only one tactic is sure to result in survival.

The Knight took a deep breath and regained his feet as quickly as his armor allowed it.

"_Run."_

* * *

They were leaving, or trying to. Fat chance.

Perhaps Gafhyugril wasn't faster than the two errant mice, but he damn sure was stronger; what was more, he knew how to use it. Pausing at the pitiful candlelight in the middle of the courtyard, two beady red eyes quickly surveyed the path of his quarry's retreat.

The tin-can, trudging directly away, towards the lower cells. If he moved quickly, Gafhyugril could overtake the steel man personally- but that wouldn't be necessary. The naked female, sprinting towards a previously unknown alcove. The female was faster; he'd block her way, and have a better meal than steel-wrapped warrior. Raising his axe over his head, Gafhyugril roared a hellish taunt- and threw it.

Perhaps he was a fool, for not targeting her directly. Gafhyugril still wanted to make the human pay, for bringing pain to his tail. But how could it be a mistake? This human was not a threat in the slightest, so long as he kept her hands away from sharp objects.

* * *

The iron bars of the gate loomed before Helene. Bare feet thumped the grass and snow, paying no heed to any harm dealt to her skin. She had to escape, and pray that Oscar managed the same.

The feeling of wind ripping apart, something thrumming through the air like a hellish disjointed windmill.

_**CRASH.**_

Even with all her forward momentum, the impact knocked her to the dirt, flat on her unprotected rear. An axe, the beast's, had sundered the wall like an oversized sledgehammer to cause an avalanche. What was once the wall above it and a good portion of the raised walkway was now a nigh-impassable barrier of jagged stone and twisted metal. There was no way Leni'd be able to climb it, not before the monster caught her!

...So she rolled to her feet, cutting right to follow the Knight who still less-than-valiantly sought sanctuary past the other entrance. She'd catch up to him, for certain; he was far slower than she, with the weight of his mai-

**Her feet churned nothing, air crushed from her lungs.**

"_Aghk- O-s... car..."_

* * *

"_Helene!"_

He'd been confused, at first, when the destruction had reached his ears. Initially, he'd intended to keep running; rule one of a full retreat was to not **stop** retreating, unless your situation had improved. Three seconds of safety afterward and the sudden call of his name, however, was enough to skid the armored runner to a halt, still shieldless.

He watched, too far away to stop, as the obese horror lifted his companion high over head and roared directly into her screaming face, bile and mucus erupting from that fanged maw and covering her with muck. Helene hadn't gotten away. No, she was being repeatedly squeezed, hollowing slowly under the crushing grip of that talon-fingered hand. He was moving, before her agonized scream was abruptly cut off once more, ribcage closing over her lungs. Oscar's boots churned the earth three times for every breath of air denied Helene, and still the demon paid him no mind.

Distracted, the demon. Too distracted with his new toy to notice the Astoran in a full-tilt clanking run, his straightsword raised to stab with both hands.

"_Let her go!"_

Sir Oscar hadn't been considered reckless without reason. At the very least, he could take refuge in the fact that his recklessness was the selfless sort.

* * *

Demonflesh was notoriously hard stuff, as well as thick. Most normal weapons could not pierce well-protected areas of a demon's body, such as limbs or stomachs. To actually damage a demon of average age or even cause them irritation one had to aim either for the face or the joints, such as the ridge where tail met buttocks for example. Still, this was unlikely to truly harm a demon; instead, it would only earn you their ire. Much like mortals, most demons held their more vital organs behind thick walls of the stone-tough skin, and their tendons were just as resilient if not moreso.

Demons were apex predators, plain and simple, but even apex predators had their weaknesses.

Weapons blessed with the power of the gods could cleave through demonflesh like butter, causing clean slices through skin that burned, and refused to heal. They sliced tendons, muscle, and even nicked the steel-hard bones.

Imagine you were impaled with a spear coated in wasp venom, then shocked by a taser. Now imagine all that had happened to your poor foot.

Now you had an idea why Gafhyugril dropped the gasping undead, taking his turn to howl in pain. An Astoran Straight Sword, particularly that of a lord's son, was quite the holy blade.

* * *

Oscar withdrew the sword and backpedaled as fast as he could, the Guardian's wildly-flinging hand coming mere inches from his shining helm. Yes, his instincts and training were serving him well. For how long, though, the knight didn't know. All it would take for his luck to fall flat would be for the Demon to remember-

...His axe. Oscar almost cursed, as one meaty hand wrapped about the obscenely huge weapon and began to pry it free of the wall, both beady eyes trained on him. Almost.

"_Helene! Are you conscious?!"_

He heard coughing from behind him. He hadn't been watching where she went, evidently she moved quite fast- even half-suffocated.

"_I- I am!"_

"_Find my shield! I need my shield!"_

"_Its here! Ghk- Catch!"_

But Oscar was already diving to the side, as the monstrous weapon cleft the earth where he once stood; his adversary already raising it in a fountain of loose earth. Damn; and they'd been doing so well. He was prone, now, and it would take far too long to stand up. His armor was simply too heav-

**Thump.**

Another roar, from his foe. Oscar spared a glance as he did his best to stand; his shield was still airborne, spinning end-over-end as the enchanted object recovered from its period of defying gravity. But its trajectory was all wrong; Helene had thrown it, so why was it flying back towards her? And why was the demon covering its face with one hand?

Oh.

"_I missed, damn it all!"_

"_You most certainly did not!"_

There was precious time to waste as the demonic gatekeeper would eventually decide that the flying shield's rim was no threat. Oscar was already on his feet, rolling forward and then pressing against the ground like a rabbit. He couldn't remember a time in which he'd moved so fast, while wearing his mail. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing. What an honor, having it returned to him after being hollow for so long.

This next attack would be no distraction. Oscar had to kill.

One footfall, upon the soil.

The second, upon the tip of a thick and stubby tail.

The third, atop the base of the spine as the hellspawn began to turn.

A leather glove, raised to grasp the joint of one of the malformed creature's wings to brace himself.

A sword, raised high overhead and reversed, hilt across the palm's bottom rather than the wrist and forefinger.

Oscar struck, and pulled downwards.

* * *

Such terrible torture. Gafhyugril had never been subjected to such pain as this. A demon's life was not one of trial; they were used to being the slayer, not prepared to be the slain. Fear was something alien to their nature, else he might have been able to guess what the tin-can had in mind atop his back.

As it was, Gafhyugril was the one truly surprised in this encounter.

He could not even roar in anguish, as the sword first pierced his lung and then was pulled, slicing upwards into his throat long after it had sunk to the hilt. His face was fixed into a nightmarish rictus, long before the edge was withdrawn and thrust again to reduce that same lung to tatters.

Gafhyugril could not even consider that he was dying, when he felt his face being torn away from him in gouging scoops by a sharp beak.

* * *

Rak had her own purpose.

A single, undeniable purpose.

Rak would never falter, never question, never wonder. It was not simply that she blindly obeyed, but rather that Rak was not intelligent enough to even consider an act. She had been created for this purpose, and so this purpose would be carried out at any cost.

For its obedience, Rak had been named a monarch. A deity of the air. A demigod of the black wings in the night. A ruler among the corvidae, and given might far beyond her kind. No predator that plagued her kind dared to rise and face Rak, who was large enough to snatch up such so-called 'birds of prey' with a single bite.

It was rare, then, that Rak spotted a foe that could actually threaten her existence. This one was elusive, despite her size; hiding amongst towers and battlements where if Rak attempted to destroy it, there would be no room to fight. Rak held distaste for any battle that was not wholly in her favor, but this is where a further oddity came in. Humans.

Two of them, to be precise. One was shiny. That had been what attracted her attention below, initially. The other was dull, and had no fur or skin- unless that was what a human's normal skin looked like, anyway. They were **fighting** the predator. What glee could a crow hold, when the tides of battle were turned in favor of the underdog?

But the battle would not last long; even outnumbered, the predator was more than a match for both humans. Perhaps it was time that the predator see what had been watching it for these past years. Perhaps it was time to join the battle.

Rak cut into a dive, talons forward and beak wide. There was no need to make a sound; the human-hunter would discover Rak had arrived soon enough, and then she would fulfill her duty.

She would take the humans to her nest, as the goddess 'Velka', Crow-Mother, had asked before vanishing entirely.

Well, perhaps there would be time to eat first. Shame to let good carrion go to waste, after all.

Rak's talons sunk into tough stomach-flesh.

Rak's beak found an eyeball. Then it found a lip, an ear, a throat.

* * *

Helene could no longer see what was going on, and it frightened her horribly. Where had that massive black bird come from? Above was the obvious answer, but such a thing was unheard of! Where was Oscar?!

"_Osca-!"_

"_Over here!"_

The shieldless knight was backing away from the shower of feathers and blood, his hands gripping a blood-stained blade with tense, trembling arms. She understood his apprehension- were they to face not one, but two demons? If Leni was uncertain of their chances before, this new development threw her certainty clear out the window.

"_Oscar, what is-"_

"_I do not know, Helene, but they're... fighting each other, and I believe the bird is winning. I think I mortally wounded the demon, however, and it might simply be capitalizing upon-"_

"_Its going to die?"_

"_Might as well already be dead. It isn't fighting back."_

"_Then how in Allfather Lloyd's underwear do we fight a bird?_

"_We may not have to. Look."_

Ignoring her usage of 'we' for the time being, Oscar pointed. Not that he needed to; the struggle was certainly the most interesting thing in the courtyard, save the bonfire's flame. That poor guardian was not having the best of days, and had fallen flat upon its bleeding back. Motionless. Dead, more than likely, as the crow took the opportunity to begin tearing the monstrosity open and feasting upon its innards. As long as they didn't disturb the crow, it might just leave them alone.

"_Come; we'll sneak around the side, hug the wall. If it doesn't think us a threat..."_

"_Oscar, I really do not like this."_

"_I will take a bird that isn't attacking us over a demon to eat us any day of the week."_

"_Good point. At least we'll pass by your shield, going this way. How long do you think we'll have to wait?"_

"_As long as it takes."_

* * *

The liver was tasty. Delectable, even. Rak briefly wondered whether she could find more of these strange prey, and where they might hide. She also considered the danger of such a search, as errant beak found stomach and got a taste of acid. No, that was disgusting; not truly worth it. Still, it was a meal, and never before had Rak feasted so hugely.

A feast that was to end, soon, unfortunately; the humans were trying to escape her. What they hadn't realized was that, being initially so small herself, Rak's eyes were so far apart that it was impossible to sneak way from her. She hadn't lived so close to this ruined human building just to let her true quarry escape!

Abandoning her meal, it would only take two hops to catch the both of them- and a third, to be airborne. Rak cared nothing for their fear.

* * *

"_Did you see that? ...What am I saying, of course you didn't."_

"_Mm. Describe it?"_

The stone floor offered little comfort to either of them, before the statue above the Seal. One was restless, pacing back and forth. The other was motionless, lounging against the wall. One, a knight or soldier of some sort, clad in chain and plate. The other was a mere waif of a lass, in black ribbon and rags.

"_I suppose, for what good it'll do. The archstone, above. The crumbled one? It flashed, like a lightning bug. Just for a half-second. I could almost swear it was moving."_

"_Strange. De Gian's 'ave been dead, fuh a lon' time. 'Ow could zhey return? Beyond zhat, Ai canno' recall a time in vhich zhey obtained it. More zhan zhat, Ai canno' remember zhe Gian's at all. Queer."_

"_So what you're saying is that either they came from before a time in which you were timeless, or... as of today, they always existed?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Queer isn't the word I would use."_

"_No- Queer describes zhe fact zhat I canno' remember 'Ow zhey died out."_

Her accent was a strange one, but the Warrior had long grown used to her oddities- especially the way she tapped her teeth with an index finger, making a rather eerie clicking sound whenever she was thinking. Nevermind that the Maiden's speech bore no resemblance to any civilization he ever knew. She was nice enough, once you got over the wax in her eyes, and the strange way she always seemed to be where you weren't initially looking for her. There was nothing to do now, however, but wait and watch. She'd assured him that others would be coming. Anything, to break the monotony of his cowardice.

"_Do y' evah 'ave zhe sensation zhat somevhun is rewriting zhe past at zhis very moment?"_

"_Er- no, I'm pretty sure that's all you. Don't think I'd mind someone rewriting my past though, ahaha."_

"_Ai am undecided."_

The tapping of her teeth echoed throughout the tower. The hellspawn trapped within her breast was getting restless.


	8. Act 1 Author's Corner

**ACT 1 AUTHOR'S CORNER**

Well, its a milestone. I didn't expect to get here so fast, or for my chapters to be quite this long. Before, I tried the old method of just responding to comments at the beginning of each chapter, and realized I really didn't want to mar my already shoddy format any further (Seriously, page breaks, y u so unresponsive). Then, private messages- but unfortunately, it didn't have the effect I wanted of reviewers and viewers knowing I was listening. It took me a while to make the decision, but I think I'm happy with the result; rather than nothing at all, I'll just put in responses and Q/A's at the end of each Act, like a sort of intermission. Some of the questions I'll be answering have come through my Skype (I won't be giving that out, as I'd much rather readers spoke through reviews), but recorded here for aid in others who might have had much the same questions. In the spirit of efficacy, it all makes sense, anyway.

What really sucks, of course, is that I'm going to need to find a different method of page-breaking. Actual page-breaks keep derping up and disappearing on me.

ParagonEmil 5/10/13 . chapter 2

Dafuq just happened?

7:06: Deux Ex Machina plotsetting. Gotta start this party somehow.

ParagonEmil 5/15/13 . chapter 4

Lol, name, and even CHARACTER for the Demon?! Awesome, seriously great!

7:06: Hell yes! I was surprised I wasn't able to find anyone else who had done it; but then again, most authors tend to move extremely quickly through most of the 'areas' of Dark Souls (and get to what changes they're making to the story), whereas I like to use them as opportunities to show off. Glad you like!

Empress Nightshade 5/18/13 . chapter 1

From Writer's Anon:

Chapter One

-The intro to this chapter was very poetic and flowed really nicely. I loved the clock/sundial imagery and how you slowly expanded it to reveal a bigger universe.

Characters:

-I'm not familiar with the fandom, so I can't comment on canon. However, you description of Velka and Manus were good. I could visualize them fairly easily. They seemed to have a past, and you reflected it well with their dialogue.

Plot:

-Well, it seems like it's just beginning. I thought the dialogue between the two characters was good, but the scene as a whole felt like it was missing something. While Velka was interesting, I had a hard time sympathizing with her conflict. You give some exposition to her title, some stuff about the chosen, and the flame, and her relationship with Manson. But it's not enough to make me as a reader care about her fading from existence. Maybe you could establish more of the world and as well as some more plot for Velka's characterization. That way when it gets to this crucial scene, there's an emotional connection to Velka's predicament.

Overall:

-Like I said before, your writing and description is well done. I suggest putting more emotions and establishing the world more. Keep up the good work.

7:06: Well of course its just the beginning, you only read half the prologue! I'd hope to hear more from you- but seriously, play Dark Souls. Its a bloody good game, and part (read: most) of the enjoyment of fanfiction comes from knowing the original content. As far as Velka goes... well, you'll see. I didn't want to dwell on her or her nature too much, because A: my vision of her runs extremely different from original canon, and B: there's more of her to come much later, and I don't want to reveal my hand all in one go.

Holsch 5/21/13 . chapter 7

Everything on either side of the Kyle bit is excellent. Really like the touches, the histories and background characters like Gregory and so on, all intriguing. Helene's backstory was superbly written, as was the battle against Gafhyugril. You seem to have a justly confident hand at this, so I look forward to coming chapters.

7:06: Yes, the Kyle bit was very much lackluster, but it was (half) deliberately so. Unfortunately, it was necessary; foreshadowing and all that. You won't be seeing Kyle again, though, rest assured- it was a one-off bit of exposition to add flavor to everything else. I'd love to season my steak, but I won't make you chew on the spices to be certain you like them (yay stupid metaphor)! Best to just put a little salt on top and hope salt-haters don't notice. As far as everything else goes- so damn glad I'm entertaining you, as you seem like the sort of person who knows what they like. I'd love to hear more from you; let me know if I maintain ramming speed, or if I'm flagging! I swear to Velka that I shall not disappoint.

Q&A from Skype:

Q: I noticed a bit of a Demon's Souls scene in the finale. Is this a red herring, or are things...?

A: ...Going to Boletaria? Eventually, as well as others. Its a long ways off, but one has to take their game 'crossovers' carefully, especially in a lore-heavy game series like Souls. And no, it isn't shoehorned in. I promise you, when the time comes, Demon's Souls will be the only logical 'next step'.

Q: Shouldn't this be in 'Game Crossovers' then?

A: I really don't think so, as the Souls games **are** part of the same series, even if canon (Word of God) explains them as unrelated to one another. Not only that, but placing it in a two-game-crossover wouldn't really apply, as other games with 'dark-souls-esque' worlds will be mingled in here and there as well. For all intents and purposes, this fanfiction is a 95% Dark Souls-based story, so it will remain in the Dark Souls category. Being 5% Italian doesn't make you a pizza, after all (lulz racial joke plzdonthurtme).

Q: Aren't you worried about plot holes?

A: Only if I trip over one. Dark Souls has an extremely intelligent fanbase, and if youtubers like VaatiVidya are any judge, they know damn well how to grab a shovel and fill in the holes themselves. There will be (hopefully) **no** plotholes in the story itself- but there may be some minor inconsistencies with non-story non-Dark Souls lore once things begin getting more complex. No one's perfect, and I'm far from it. I find it's better to embrace that fact and step around the holes, rather than agonize over them.

Q: Didn't the Asylum Demon initially have a hammer/club sort of deal, rather than an axe?

A: axes are kewl, stfu. Seriously though, the fact I changed the axe is supposed to be a 'big hint' that yes, Dsouls has been changed. The world is going to be a lot more harsh than what it was before, and a lot larger. In retrospect, I could have used something else for the hint, but really it doesn't matter that much.

Q: Helene is a weak CU. Does she get stronger, in any way?

A: That's a good question. Do you have the right answer? There are many routes to attaining strength, and not all of them are physical or magical in nature. She does- but I won't tell you how.

Q: She gonna be naked the whole time?

A: Hahahaha, no. As funny as that would be, this isn't a fanservicefiction. Helene will be naked if and when there's no other option (read: almost never again, probably).

Q: Did Velka die? Why didn't you show us her usual actions in a timeline? How did she die so fast?

A: Only in the strictest sense. A real god can't die- but they can go comatose, and they can change. Did you really want to sit through six chapters of Velka pulling her usual Goddess of Sin stuff and telling Rak to run recon and transport? She would just be going through the motions, and it would be fairly boring to read. As for why her power went kaput... well, think about what she was holding at the time. The gods of Dark Souls are not omnipotent, despite Manus's little joke. When you've got so much on your mind, a human might forgo sleep or food- Velka forgot to pay attention to herself.

Q: How are you handling game mechanics? I've noticed there's been no talk of 'souls entering the body' or being used as currency.

A: As great an idea for a game as it is, the idea of 'souls' being what they are in the Souls series doesn't do well for book format, or for a fully realized world. I tend to take such game mechanics to their logical conclusion, thinking of them as literal metaphors in a way. Souls **will** be involved, yes, but no one's going to be sitting at a bonfire and going 'Ok, time to put a couple points into intelligence- Oh, hey! I'm smarter now'.

Q: Respawning enemies? How does one go 'fully hollow', and what's the reason why Helene didn't go that way?

A: Only in a few select circumstances, where it makes logical sense. Again, game mechanic- not reality. As far as 'going hollow' goes, I always took that to mean you not only had to lose all your hope, you also had to be braindead- left with nothing but the basest of instincts. Usually, that means looking like a piece of walking beef jerky. So really, if you see a Hollow or watch a character go hollow, they not only lost all hope but they also committed suicide, or something killed them. Helene didn't go 'fully hollow' because she still **has** hope. She was trapped, not beaten, and it was only a matter of time before her cell opened somehow. One bonus of being braindead is that you get really headstrong. This means, of course, that any hollow can die semi-permanently as a result of head destruction (Zombie Headshot). Without a brain to steer the body, there's nothing you can do except hope you fall on a bonfire. The heroes are no exception.

Q: Invasions? Summons?

A: No, and no. Well, sort of no. It won't function in the same way; there will be no summon signs, and no 'black/white phantoms.' There's no real 'good' or 'evil', and how do you know what's going to happen when you run up to a stranger in the street and say hi?

Q: Is this going to be another 'CU does everything right and everyone lives happily ever after' story?

A: Fromsoft doesn't deal in 100% happy stories. Neither do I. There will be happiness, sadness, loss and gain, trials and treasure- and at the end of it, a climax. Who's to say how that climax will finish?

**With that out of the way...**


	9. 1: The Prince

Helene was comatose. Oscar felt like doing the same, but her unconsciousness was not the result of pain. Instead, he suspected it was sheer emotional duress. The knight, in contrast, was well-used to being in quite a large amount of danger. Terror alone could not balk him, though it did influence his actions.

He didn't know where the gigantic bird was taking them; likely to its nest, somewhere massively high and treacherous to escape from. Somewhere it could feast upon them at leisure. If he had a course of action to deny that, he would have taken it. Unfortunately he was not quite bullheaded enough to try cutting himself free of talons when they were so high over the ground.

Such would have made for a short, painful trip, for both him and Helene. It would have been most unfair to drag her along to a death, and unbecoming of a knight.

Amusing, really. Here, he'd initially convinced himself she was a sign of his hollowing; an angel, a hallucination. Now Oscar suspected that she considered him much the same, though more real. Funny how perceptions twisted. Some 'Knight' he'd been, deciding to run from the demon- then changing his mind, and failing to kill it before the bird caught them.

It must have been nice, to be thinking nothing as the world passed beneath them in a blur of colors, but Oscar could not drag himself off to blissful nothingness. Not deliberately, anymore.

~̛͢͜͢~̡̀͟͜͠~̷̵̡̛͢~̵̵̀͢͞~̷̛͡~̛~̷̀͜~̵̴̛͜~͢͏̶͢~̶̛~͟~̵̛͟͢͢~͟͞͞~̵̀͘͝~̴̸̡͘~̢̢̛́͘~̶̨́҉̕~͠͝~̸́~̷̷̴~̷҉͟~̶́̕͢~̕͏̵~̴̧̨͘~̶̡͠~͠҉̴̀~̵͟҉̨~̛́~̨́͟͢͡~̨͘͏͏

"_You're awake."_

Helene stirred to Oscar's voice, groaning. Warmth was nearby. A bonfire? Amber eyes opened, flicking back and forth as if paranoid that she was still unliving a nightmare. No- no sign of the bird. Ground? One aching hand pressed against it, pushing her upright.

"_Where- where are we, Sir Oscar?"_

"_Haven't the slightest. Strange thing- I felt certain we'd be dropped into a nest somewhere, but our 'friend' let us go right here, not two minutes ago. Gently, as well. Its up above."_

Helene looked up, before she had the good sense to stop herself. Oscar hadn't been lying.

Atop a ruined tower, she could plainly see that demonically sharp beak clacking, the huge eye fixated squarely upon her. All it took was for the gigantic corvidae to ruffle its feathers, and her mouth opened to scream again-

-only to be clasped by a leather-bound gauntlet.

"_Hush! I would liefer not agitate the creature, on the off-chance that it means us no harm. Relax yourself, Helene."_

"_Yes, ahaha. Relax. Might as well, you'll be here a while."_

An airy, sardonic third voice. Pulling away from Oscar's admonishing grasp, it didn't take long before she found the origin.

Leaning against a ruined archway was a warrior in full chain, his unkempt hair greasy- face littered with the 5'o'clock shadow of one who had decided it simply wasn't worth keeping up appearances. In one hand was the green flask she recognized as an Estus container, its contents half-full of glowing orange smoke. Was it possible to be drunk off the stuff? He had the look of any town's local booze-hound.

"_W-Who are you?" _Helene asked, struggling to her feet despite aching joints.

"_Doesn't matter. Not anymore. Like me, aren't you? Another damned undead, with nowhere else to go? I can't say I would mind you hanging about a **tad**- you might not be a touch on the concubines I once had, but call me pressed for choice."_

She brought one hand across her meager chest and another before her legs in embarrassed irritation, but couldn't immediately come up with a meaningful return. How dare he?!

"_Why, you-"_

"_Hold, Helene. I think... yes, I think I know this one." _Oscar snapped his fingers, then pointed at their lewd acquaintance. _"You were Ricard's brother. Lassen? You were next in line for the throne, before they found your Sign. In a Vinheim inn, no less, if I remember the town crier rightly. 'The lecherous undead prince'."_

Well, somehow that made Helene feel less scandalized. 'Lassen' wasn't a drunk, he was just an arsehole that was used to getting what he wanted. Well, he couldn't have her- there was a time and way for insinuations, and he'd blundered upon neither. At least she wasn't the focus anymore, the ex-Prince now giving Oscar his full attention to brag.

"_Oh, so you know, do you? I suppose they didn't have the good graces to tell you my quarry at the time was none other than the Archsorceress Ysabella of Vinheim. You know, that short little brunette minx of a 'diplomat'? Figures, doesn't it. No glory for the undead, in Astora. Really, it wasn't my fault that she licked the makeup off my Sign, and had such a **start**. They didn't tell you it was her that informed the guard, did they? No, nothing to make the sorceress finally blush, seeing as she hadn't even dressed before she ran out. Oh, but excuse me. I hadn't asked who **you** are. Not that I'll have to remember long, likely. So? Out with it, afore you're off like the rest."_

"_Sir Oscar, son of Lord Feathin. I'll have to ask you to cease attempts at my charge, no treason meant. Helene of Catarina is under my care."_

"_Oh? An item, are you? Ahaha."_

"_Not quite. She saved my life, letting me continue on with my quest. She has also graciously offered to travel with me, and tend to my wounds. She's a nurse."_

Helene didn't let her voice go above a whisper as she thanked her protector. Once they finished conversation with the Prince, Leni would certainly have to have a look around- this place was gorgeous. Sitting on the warm earth, the healer inched her way closer to the bonfire and let its aura seep into her aching joints. It had a twisted blade, as well- she was beginning to think they all did. Were they merely markers, from a bygone time?

"_Quest, mm? I don't suppose you came to ring the bell? You wouldn't be the first one; half of the undead world seems to find its way here, the last few years. Thirty, before you? Something close to that number- but they always come back hollowed, if at all, not having the good sense to give up while they're ahead. Or, rather, while they still have one. None for quite some time, though, since the bridge fell through."_

"_I had assumed it would be difficult, 'tis no surprise there. So this place is infested with hollows, as well? Nothing we cannot handle, to be sure."_

"_Oh, certainly. Undead, and worse. If you thought the mainland was rife with danger, best to have a seat right here and wait for the world to end. I'm sure we can all pass the time, somehow. Better than going after a pair of bells that may or may not still be intact."_

"_Wait- a pair?"_

Oscar's voice was undoubtedly taken aback at the news. It took all Leni had to not throw something at the Prince, when he gave that insipid chuckle once more.

"_A pair, Sir Oscar. One above, one below. Supposedly, they open the old fortress if you simultaneously ring them- but how in the hells you're supposed to be able to do that, Big-Hat didn't say."_

"_Logan's here? Big-Hat Logan?"_

"_Oh aye. Signed as well, right at the end of his nose. That's what he gets, for burying it in books all his life, rather than between some comely lass's-"_

"_Ahem."_

"_Oh. Right. Mustn't offend the **nurse**, aye? Really, Oscar, you're wearing my patience thin with that nonsense. We're all dead here, might as well make the most of it. We're not going to heaven, after all."_

"_And you, wearing mine with your talk of giving up. Most unbecoming of a Prince, undead or no. What respect I offer you due to your bloodline cannot hold forever."_

"_I am not **making** you talk to me, son of Feathin, and I did not take up arms to your ridiculous quest."_

"_Ridiculous?! It was the only course of action to be thought of, you-"_

Best to stop this now, if she could. Helene interrupted, just before her friend took a step forward with violent posture. There was no sense in two unhollowed undead beating the brains from one another! Not when one of them obviously held information Oscar needed!

"_Both of you! There's nothing to be gained from being at one another's throats- Oscar, you're as ragged as I, to be sure. Prince Lassen has his opinions, as do we- perhaps it is in all our best interests if we withhold them for now? He can help us, I'm sure of it- and..."_

She paused, biting one lip. Still, small evils. She could always say, later, that he wasn't helpful enough.

"_I'm sure ...one of us... can do a favor for him, in return. Why don't we have a seat about the fire and put together a plan of action?"_

The bonfire. Surely it would cool their nerves, even as it warmed their bodies. The prince only chuckled again, shrugging in a decidedly uncharismatic manner towards Oscar.

"_That's a Catarinian for you. Always with the 'plans'. She speaks truth though, your Healer. I shouldn't measure codpieces with an upstart knight, when I've other things on my plate... and maybe you **can** help me."_

"_Likewise."_

Oscar's decidedly cold word was joined with a turning of a shoulder, the clanking battler taking up position next to his friend. Lassur, on the other hand, took seat upon the broken ring of steps that circled the flame; well within the fire's warmth, yet still at distance from the conversation. Helene would have to break the ice; Oscar had gotten quite enough of the Prince's greetings.

"_So... why did you come here, Prince Lassur? If not to ring the bells, then..."_

"_Strange question, from someone who wanted to formulate a 'plan'. My actions don't concern you, so don't muddle your brain with them. All you need to know is that I'm... guarding this place, in a sense. Havens are far and few in Lordran, so someone's got to take care of the place. And the firekeeper."_

"_Firekeeper?"_

That was startling. A Thorolund firekeeper, here? Was that why this bonfire blazed so much more merrily than the others? She'd heard of them, though she'd never actually gone to the Holy City. Thorolund was supposedly sprung up around a large clutch of bonfires, and the virgin priestesses that tended them knew, somehow, a way to keep them brighter than any other. Of course, they never spoke; a self-inflicted vow of silence, and rejection of sins of the flesh.

"_Aye. Did you know the clerics cut out their tongues? To keep them from complaining, I'd imagine? Poor girls. No one deserves that, least of all to be dragged out to this hell of a place and stuck behind bars... then forgotten. She can't even hollow- the tie to the bonfire keeps her immortal and sane, forever, whether or not she's Signed."_

"_That's... that's horrible- no, that's not what I heard, they-"_

"_They what? Cut out their own tongues? Ask her yourself, see what she tells you. No, they didn't choose that life, and they're treated worse than beggars in Carim. The only way out is to die- and hells if I wouldn't begrudge her that, but she clings to life out of some brainwashed concept of 'duty'. Its amazing what nods and shakes of the head can tell you if you ask the right questions."_

"_No doubt."_

Oscar's sarcastic statement cut through the silence Helene had left, struck dumb. Surely, she was no church's girl any longer; that didn't change the blasphemy that was let loose from the Prince's lips. Sir Oscar was obviously having none of it though, and was met with Lassen's sneer.

"_And there, my friend, is the very same rejection that makes Allfather Lloyd's Way of White so powerful. Ignore **all** the truth, except what they tell you to believe. Vereor Nox- because they're afraid of what you'll discover in it. That's humanity for you. Logan said the same, don't you know. What was it? 'To learn is godly; to deceive is human'? I couldn't have put it better. There's no treasure in Lordran, and yet half the bastards that came this way were all looking for some hidden tomb of gold- or books, in Big-Hat's case. That mage is probably hollow by now. Him, and all his little entourage. I'm damn sure I heard no bell."_

Helene wanted to deny it all, but she was no hypocrite. The jaded prince did indeed have his own hurtful opinions, and if **she** started getting angry now then Leni and Oscar were going to get nowhere. Rather than deny all of it, perhaps it was better to change the subject.

"_We- what could you tell us, about what lies ahead? I'd imagine you hear a lot more than you've been letting on, what with-"_

"_I could tell you a lot of what I've heard, Healer, but none of it would be where to find clothing. ...On a serious note, though, don't get your hopes up. A lot of travelers were close-lipped. Only Big-Hat didn't care enough to keep silent, and you wouldn't catch me past-dead trying to talk with that 'priest' over near the urns. Tell you what. You do something for me, here, and I'll make it worth your while."_

'Here it comes', she thought, trying to resist the disgusted look on her face. Would it be against her that she tried to look as unappealing as possible, right then? It might have dissuaded the lecherous Prince Lassen.

"_You leave the firekeeper alone, and make damn sure you're hells away from this place when you hollow, and I'll tell you anything I know about what you might discover. I've got no way of knowing what knowledge will or won't be of use to you, but I won't deny your questions. All you've got to do is be considerate. If not, well- there's a small pile of bodies I've dumped in the graveyard and left around the place that you can join. Fair?"_

"_Is that a threa-"_

Oscar's interruption was responded in kind, by Helene's pointing finger. There was a well nearby the ring of steps, lacking both drawbucket and rope. The scaffolding it hung from had long since rotted away. In its place was a hollowed corpse, missing its head and draped haphazardly across the rim of stone.

"_I don't think he's joking, Oscar. You didn't clean them up, Prince Lassen?"_

"_Moving bodies is heavy work. After a while, I decided they'd better serve as warnings than compost. Eventually, the hollows on the hill got the message. I think. They certainly aren't crossing my little boundary line, now."_

So the Prince really did have a heart, however small. How much of this man's attitude was a result of his upbringing, and how much of it was rejection of the world in general? Helene couldn't say- but at the very least, it seemed he was in favor of living and letting live.

"_It's funny, really. This whole time, I thought you were going to demand I... you know. In payment for your information."_

Lassen laughed, earning a jerk from Oscar who had decided to remain largely silent.

"_Don't kid yourself, girl. Even if you **were** pretty enough to get a second glance from me, I don't bed with prostitutes. A dead man has to have his standards, after all. Besides that, short of divine intervention, I don't think there's a chest in the world that could rise me. Things stop working once you stop **breathing**."_

"_Come, Helene. I've enough of this 'Prince's' words, and supposedly there's a priest about. I'd wager he'll be more pleasant to talk to."_

"_A-agreed."_

Rising from the bonfire, the duo trudged off to explore the ruins- leaving the undead Lassen to stare at the blazing flames. A swig of ghostly Estus, and humor drained from his face; leaving behind the pathetic shell of a man he knew he'd become. Nothing more, now, than the guardian of a woman who couldn't even utter 'thank you'- and the self-appointed greeter of hell's gates, trying in vain to keep everyone from inevitable heartbreak.

"_Don't count on it, you two. The only honest one here is me. Everyone else is just a little... too human."_

But they were too far away to hear his forlorn whisper.


	10. 2: The Trick of the Eyes

Religion.

Religion was a difficult question to ask both Oscar and Helene, due in part to the mounting trials of Oscar's quest and Helene's unwillingness to go her own way. Their lives had been hard; Helene's, moreso than Oscar's, if she were any judge. Still, the ex-Prince had spoken of a cleric nearby, and judging from the mumbled prayers beyond this wrecked archway, he was close.

"_Helene, it may behoove us to split up at this point- just for a short while. Your state of dress..."_

"_Naked about a priest? I can see your point. ...Pay me no mind, I'll go exploring."_

"_Do not go too far; we don't know what surrounds us. Not in any detail, at least. There could be hollows about."_

"_Of course."_

_~̛~̵̵̡̕~̷̶̕͟͟~̵̕͏͞~̵́͘͘~̕͘͞~̡͏͡͏~̷̵̨͝~̛҉~́҉͜~́͘͝~҉͏̨̢~̕̕͟~̴̢͠~̵̨̀͘͘~̶̧̕͢͝~̵̨̧̛~̶́͝͠~̵̴~͢͞~҉̢̛̀~̢͠~̡̡͞~̛͘~̵̀͘~̨~̸̢҉̶~̀͞͡~̵̨̧́~͠~̛~̵̵̡̕~̷̶̕͟͟~̵̕͏͞~̵́͘͘~̕͘͞~̡͏͡͏~̷̵̨͝~̛҉~́҉͜~́͘͝~҉͏̨̢~̕̕͟~̴̢͠~̵̨̀͘͘~̶̧̕͢͝~̵̨̧̛~̶́͝͠~̵̴~͢͞~҉̢̛̀~̢͠~̡̡͞~̛͘~̵̀͘~̨~̸̢҉̶~̀͞͡~̵̨̧́~͠_

"_Hail, priest!"_

"_Oh! ...Are you a pilgrim? Forgive me, I... er... thought you might be m'lady and her men. Getting rather anxious, I am. They should have been right behind me..."_

The man was rather heavily-garbed in steel plates, sewn into circles around his neck, arms and torso. A cleric's traveling garb. That, coupled with his blonde bowlcut, made him look like a rather aged bell. If one considered his morningstar the bell's hammer, then it was all Oscar could do to not chuckle.

"_'Fraid not, priest of Thorolund. Nor have I seen anyone of the sort. In fact, I was wondering if **you** could help **us**. You see, we arrived 'on the wing', so to speak, from the Catarina Asylum. Our 'bird's eye view' did not help us as much as you might think. Sir Oscar of Astora, my name."_

There was a small cough, the priest stowing his talisman safely away before returning the morningstar to its beltloop. Had he planned to attack? Perhaps if his visitor was hollow. Why was the priest so nervous, though? Oscar would have thought a clergyman of the Way of White would be happy to see a friendly face here.

"_Petrus, of Thorolund. You're a knight? Well... I would assume you're undead, then, seeing as to your origin?"_

An interesting question. Perhaps honesty was the best policy.

"_Aye. Myself, and my charge- both Signed, but not hollow. You've nothing to fear from us, if that is your concern. We mean no harm to the Way of White, only information on our quest."_

"_I-... I see. Well, you'll have to excuse me, then. I know nothing of the surrounding lands, as that... er... was information given to m'lady, not I. Really, I mean no ill-will, but I must... er... get back to my prayers."_

Perhaps honesty was **not** the best policy. Behind the veil of his helm, Oscar raised an eyebrow. Was this man truly going to refuse to talk to a friendly Darksigner in this place? Small wonder Prince Lassen didn't like him. Still, he might have been mistaken. It was worth an attempt, at least, to talk to this fidgeting man.

"_Perhaps another time, then? I am certain there is something we can do for you, as well. Mayhap if you were to point us in the direction of your Lady, we might-"_

"_No, no! All is well. There was an- erm- avalanche, some time ago, that caused us some difficulty and sundered our party. I believe they're alive, though- I only hope to help guide their way, through the power of prayer. Such a task requires much time alone, you see. Allfather Lloyd shall see us all through this trying time."_

"_...Right."_

Oscar sneered. What a coward. It seemed the Way of the White had never washed the yellow from their sheets, in the war against Carim. It shouldn't have been a surprise.

Now. Where had Helene gone?

~̛~̵̵̡̕~̷̶̕͟͟~̵̕͏͞~̵́͘͘~̕͘͞~̡͏͡͏~̷̵̨͝~̛҉~́҉͜~́͘͝~҉͏̨̢~̕̕͟~̴̢͠~̵̨̀͘͘~̶̧̕͢͝~̵̨̧̛~̶́͝͠~̵̴~͢͞~҉̢̛̀~̢͠~̡̡͞~̛͘~̵̀͘~̨~̸̢҉̶~̀͞͡~̵̨̧́~͠~̛~̵̵̡̕~̷̶̕͟͟~̵̕͏͞~̵́͘͘~̕͘͞~̡͏͡͏~̷̵̨͝~̛҉~́҉͜~́͘͝~҉͏̨̢~̕̕͟~̴̢͠~̵̨̀͘͘~̶̧̕͢͝~̵̨̧̛~̶́͝͠~̵̴~͢͞~҉̢̛̀~̢͠~̡̡͞~̛͘~̵̀͘~̨~̸̢҉̶~̀͞͡~̵̨̧́~͠

This place was huge. The bonfire itself, and the accompanying circle of steps was barely the tip of the iceberg for this place; the ruins stretched for at least a mile, amongst archways and stairs that led her in many different directions of ultimately nowhere. Not that she terribly minded. From a perch she found at the top of a larger spire of broken stone, Leni could plainly see that the only two ways out of the place were via a small cliffside and stairs going below- to who-knows-where. The former was treacherous footing (at least, moreso than the ruins) interspersed with quite a number of watching hollows.

The latter... well, going down those stairs would mean, likely, angering the Prince. Given that she had no real reason to be down there, it was better to avoid doing so. Firekeepers were supposed to remain near their bonfire, after all, and since the Keeper was nowhere to be found amidst the ruins it only stood to reason she'd be below.

There was a pool, as well, half-full of rainwater below. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to be gained, there; Helene didn't much like the idea of bathing in front of others, even considering she wouldn't have to take anything off. That, and the place seemed to be an old shrine, to some long-forgotten goddess. For some reason, the statue had actually survived the march of time; a mother and child, though their pews long-rotted away.

The fourth location of interest was obviously a much-abandoned graveyard. Not something that seemed out of place, here. Helene was more concerned by how ill-kept the tombstones were, as the cliffside seemed to steadily erode away over years and centuries. Some gravestones, if marked as she thought they were, overlapped others' plots willy-nilly. Almost as if the bodies beneath were unimportant- yet still moreso than those draped atop the soil.

Bones were strewn everywhere. She was no stranger to death, by now- but there was something eerie in how complete skeletons were laid bare to the sun, as opposed to scattered. Amongst them, even more bodies- fresher, hollowed ones. Lassen hadn't been lying. One of them was still leaking blood, in a foot-wide pool.

Was it just her imagination, or was that sanguine circle smoking? The air above it seemed to ripple, like the space above a flame. What she wouldn't have given for a pair of binoculars to get a closer look; Oscar had said not to go far and waltzing into a graveyard out of curiosity wasn't her cup of tea-

"_Nurse."_

"_AUGH!"_

A leather glove grabbed her shoulder as the shock nearly de-ledged her to a rather harrowing (and hollowing) fall.

"_You nearly-"_

"_Nearly isn't an occurrence, lass. Couldn't have you go and give the wrong directions, now could I?"_

A strange choice of words, as well as topic. Shrugging away from his grip, Helene looked upwards; Lassur was possibly the **last** person she wanted invading her personal space at the moment.

"_The abyss are you talking about, man? I was only exploring. Knowing your environment is one-third of successful survival, after all."_

"_Catarina teach you that? Funny thing for a nurse to know."_

"_I know a fair amount of things, Prince, such as when not to trust a man when you're alone."_

That dour chuckle, and she wanted to just push him off. There was no humor in his voice; sure, he might have jested or laughed, but somehow his facade of camaraderie only made the conversation more offensive.

"_Far be it from me, then, to give you some friendly advice as per our little agreement. I'm sure you'll discover the graveyard's dangers all on your own."_

"_Wait."_

He was leaving, then- and despite her previous revulsion, it wasn't hard for Helene to swallow (what remained of) her pride and turn around.

"_What dangers? Moreso than anywhere else?"_

He at least paused, looking back with sunken, dark-rimmed eyes. What he was thinking, Leni couldn't tell; but at least he stopped, leaning over the broken architecture and staring outwards to the graves. For a short while, that was all he did. It was as if Lassen was disinterested, or held disdain for the area.

"_More kinds of undead walk Lordran than mere Hollows, Lass. Some... Some you cannot kill, for good. You can only disrupt them, momentarily. With no flesh, no emotions and no fear of death, I wouldn't wish them on my greatest adversary."_

"_What are you speaking of?"_

"_Watch the bones, lass. There's no wind. Its no trick of the eyes."_

She joined him, then, getting up from her seat and pulling her legs from their dangling edge. Helene did not like the suspicious tone in his voice; if even the sardonic Prince feared these things, then she should-

"_It moved! That femur- and that skull, there!"_

"_It is a trap, plain and simple. They mimicry mere remains, and prey upon those that do not pay attention. I've watched them flense one of Big-Hat's apprentices apart like a skilled tanner, and now the poor lad is one of them. They know we're watching them, and they're waiting for us. Or for me to push another Hollow off this ruin. I don't think they much care which."_

"_You're... just trying to scare me, aren't you."_

"_Ahaha. Yes, yes I am. And that fear will keep you unliving, girl. If you're to survive at all in this place, you have to keep an **eye** out, an ear as well. What you don't know **will** hollow you, rest assured, and the same goes for the son of Feathin. Even the worst lies hold grains of **truth**, lass. But relax. You don't have to go that way, anyway. Neither bell is **that** way."_

Was it wrong to say that she actually let out the smallest sigh of relief? Pulling her arms off the architecture, one hand scratched at her side.

"_So where, then?"_

"_The aqueduct. That big bridge, leads to the Burg. Hollows that way, but they're a damn sight better an opponent than the skeletons below. No doubt your Knight can handle himself, there. ...But **you** don't have to go that way, either."_

Lassen's hand was on her shoulder again. Or, at least, two fingers. Not grabbing; he wanted her full attention, not to hold her. If it weren't for the warnings and advice, Helene'd have refused him that.

"_Oh?"_

"_I know you're going, out of some misplaced concept of duty to the Astoran- but think logically for a moment. You're no warrior, Helene. You're no cleric. No mage. You're a healer, a flesh-stitcher. This place is perfect to stay in, for those like us. It has all the amenities we need, and I've already driven the hollows from it."_

He leaned in, too close.

"_The bells are a fool's errand, lass. Better men than your Oscar have tried, and they only add to the ranks of the damned. **Stay here.** If you feel you have to do something helpful, then practice your craft on the other ill-fated fame-hunting buzzards that come rolling through this dead place. You and I are **both** going to go hollow- we might as well enjoy it. Haven't you suffered enough? Haven't we all?"_

Helene would have shoved him away, if the precarious footing allowed for it without an accident. As it was, she could only look down her nose at his greasy hair.

"_We have; I agree with you there, Prince Lassen. But I owe Oscar a debt, and I'll not falter. Call me a fool if you must, but he needs me. If Sir Oscar thinks there is something to these bells, then... then I have to help him do it. Catarina gave me something else, and its in my damn rotting blood: Better to die trying, than live wondering."_

"_Catarinians are a bunch of fools."_

"_At least we laugh with real humor."_

Brushing by him on the narrow walkway, she'd have left him there if not for one niggling detail. Something that had struck her as **off**.

"_In the graveyard. Why does that pool of blood boil and fizz?"_

Helene was positively shocked to see his face question her sanity, confused by her words.

"_What blood?"_

~̛~̵̵̡̕~̷̶̕͟͟~̵̕͏͞~̵́͘͘~̕͘͞~̡͏͡͏~̷̵̨͝~̛҉~́҉͜~́͘͝~҉͏̨̢~̕̕͟~̴̢͠~̵̨̀͘͘~̶̧̕͢͝~̵̨̧̛~̶́͝͠~̵̴~͢͞~҉̢̛̀~̢͠~̡̡͞~̛͘~̵̀͘~̨~̸̢҉̶~̀͞͡~̵̨̧́~͠~̛~̵̵̡̕~̷̶̕͟͟~̵̕͏͞~̵́͘͘~̕͘͞~̡͏͡͏~̷̵̨͝~̛҉~́҉͜~́͘͝~҉͏̨̢~̕̕͟~̴̢͠~̵̨̀͘͘~̶̧̕͢͝~̵̨̧̛~̶́͝͠~̵̴~͢͞~҉̢̛̀~̢͠~̡̡͞~̛͘~̵̀͘~̨~̸̢҉̶~̀͞͡~̵̨̧́~͠

"_There you are, Helene."_

"_Any luck with the cleric?"_

Oscar shook his helm in the negative. He'd been waiting almost an hour for her, and was considering going after her; the Astoran didn't trust the Prince as far as he could leap, let alone throw him. At least Lassen was somewhat helpful, though; unlike the piss-souled priest.

"_You seem perturbed, my friend. Something eating you? If it is fear, I shan't begrudge you to stay behind."_

It was Helene's turn to shake her head. What could she tell him? That she was, apparently, hallucinating pools of blood amongst the hollows? That Lassen had very nearly hollowed her, even if by accident? That skeletons stalked graveyards like terrible reapers of the flesh? It was best not to worry him.

"_Just irritated that I couldn't find clothing. Looks like I'll have to loot the dead again, at some point- surely someone's got at least a loincloth or something. I tire of strutting about in the buff."_

"_I should hardly think a loincloth is any better. I'd offer you mine, but I doubt that-"_

Ugh.

"_The offer is well-received, Oscar, and yet I think I'd rather be nude than parade about in my comrade's underthings."_

"_Of course."_

"_Come on- and get your sword ready. The aqueduct is said to be crawling with the damned."_


	11. 3: The Aqueduct

"_There's only ten of them, how hard could this be? A trained Astoran Knight against a handful of hollows?"_

"_Oscar, think about this. They're wearing armor; they're carrying weapons, and shields. And I don't like the look of the ones with those canvas-wrapped balls, or those two with the better armor and bigger shields. Why haven't they attacked yet?"_

Helene was taking Lassen's advice to heart; pay attention, or hollow out.

"_Bad vision; if their eyes have rotted out of their skulls, seeing anything in the daylight is hard for them. Puts them on equal footing with me, really, with my helm. Same with hearing; unless we're very close, I don't think anything but a yell would give them cause to investigate. ...That, and Prince Lassen did say he'd driven them off. I don't know how, but perhaps they're unwilling to pass a certain point. Small favors that we cannot count upon, further in. We should make use of it."_

Inspecting the small force against them, Helene tried to recall what she knew of her (admittedly brief) period in military school. Every Catarinian born was trained to be a tactician, and those who excelled in such studies went on to be warriors- Helene never came close to such, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten everything.

One of the lessons she'd remembered was to confuse your enemy. 'Greet your foes with a smile and a drink, and see if they will still hold arms against you. Carry strong arms and weapons, yet know the greater weapon can be the meager foot.'

Leaning down, Helene brushed her hand along the half-dead grass. Ruins like these, there was bound to be a...

"_Aha! I found a rock!"_

Standing upright, Leni tossed it once in the air to catch it; Oscar only raised an eyebrow, adjusting his grip on the crested kite shield. He'd been holding his blade for some time now, unsheathed; it wasn't good for a blade to be out of its' scabbard for so long. The air was moist.

"_What are you playing at, Helene? You can't expect a mere piece of rubble to puncture armor; not with **your** strength. No offense meant, of course. They're only Hollows, I say we just rush the-"_

"_I don't need to puncture, I just need to- erh!"_

It was a pretty good throw, all things considered. The jagged lump sailed through the air even after her unnecessarily long wind-up, putting a full-body-rotation's worth behind the toss- or trying to, at least. Helene was no pitcher.

This fact was made alarmingly clear when the broken stone did not thump into the chainmail vest of the foremost soldier. It instead sailed far too high, landing directly in the midst of the undead.

Seconds passed as, in unison, the near-mindless Darksigned turned to inspect the small thump.

Helene and Oscar could only watch, quietly, as rotted brains considered the direction it had come from.

In one moment, silence- and then a dissonance of moans.

~̸̡͘͢~̶͢͠~̛~͏̵~̴̀~͏͏͡~̡̢͟҉̶~̶̀~̡̀~̛͝҉͏̛~̷̧͟~́͢~̸̢͝~͟͝~̨̕͘͜~̨͜͡~̛͞~̶̸̨̛҉~̨͠~̷̢͝͞~̸̡͘͢~̶͢͠~̛~͏̵~̴̀~͏͏͡~̡̢͟҉̶~̶̀~̡̀~̛͝҉͏̛~̷̧͟~́͢~̸̢͝~͟͝~̨̕͘͜~̨͜͡~̛͞~̶̸̨̛҉~̨͠~̷̢͝͞

"_Any more rocks, Helene?!"_

"_Shut up and survive, Oscar, please!"_

The cliffside had become a battlefield. The aqueduct before them had hidden more foes than they thought; it was fourteen now, not counting the two that Oscar had already dispatched over the side- or the other three that had been cut down by their comrades' mad scramble for blood. At least the environment was in their favor, as Oscar had intelligently planted his feet at the far end of a rather thin portion of the cliff.

"_I am serious, if you've got anything-"_

"_Fire thrown!"_

Oscar pushed with his shield at the helm of the foremost soldier, shoving the dead man back; getting enough room to raise a defense. From above, a vaguely spherical ball of canvas was whipping downward, fire sparking from one side. This was the sixth one, and each time it was all Helene could do to get as close as she could against the knight's back.

The orb struck Oscar's crested kite, shattering in an instant to shower them both with globules of burning liquid. Leni backed up, rubbing quickly at her arm to extinguish the fuel- and the fight continued. Oscar **almost** did not have time to bring the shield down again.

"_This is- Rah! -insane!"_

"_Come on, Oscar, you can't- **get down!**"_

An undead had grown impatient with waiting in line for the knight, wheeling one arm backwards with a massive axe. It wasn't the first time; the last weapon thrown had been a tetanus-ridden shortsword that cleanly sliced open Oscar's right shoulder. A testament to fighter's adrenaline, Oscar hadn't even noticed until he tried to raise his sword. Keeping a grip was all he could manage!

Things were going poorly- the third hollow to be knocked off the edge, here, was a paltry boon. It hadn't been due to any direct action on the knight's part. They had both cowered, and the axe would have sailed harmlessly over them if Oscar's latest opponent hadn't tripped over the knight's helm- pushed by another behind. Axes made a satisfying 'thunk' sound when they hit an unprotected skull.

Standing up, the dead hollow's body rolled off his back, and then the ledge. Oscar was tiring of this. It was a test of endurance and reflexes- something he had in short supply. Strength and skill, however, was a different matter. He had to get back on the offensive!

"_Take my shield! Block the fire!"_

"_What?!"_

"_You heard me! I need my sword!"_

"_You're mad!"_

Perhaps he was. The next thing she knew, Helene was slapped in the chest with a kite shield, Oscar throwing his injured shoulder into the next enraged hollow. He had to have been out of his mind, at this point, surely! Leni knew he wasn't left handed, and yet he'd taken the brief opportunity his attack had given him to trade the grip on his sword. Quickly, she wrestled the shield into place on her right arm.

"_Got it? Rhah!"_

"_I do!"_

Helene had to admit, for a righty the knight was fairly adept with his off-hand. The wild overhead axeblow of his latest opponent had too long a pull for efficacy, the weight of his weapon bending spine too far back. If he'd ever struck with it, surely the treefeller would have sliced clean through Oscar's armor- but the hollow never had the chance. Oscar had given a rather rocking pommel-punch to the undead's rusty helm, followed by a weaker horizontal slice beneath jaw-height.

Apparently, even such a lackluster strike was enough to sever the neck.

"_Much better!"_

These two words as his edge ricocheted off the cliff's wall, the knight of Astora using the rebound to bring his sword crosswise against his body once more. Damaging to the weapon- but the intention was clear. Rather than use his strength to preserve momentum in this place, Oscar would simply use rebound and draw less upon his fading endurance.

"_Your other hand- grab my back, and keep me from falling if I lose- Hn! Balance!"_

Helene slipped her fingers into his standard, getting as good a grip as she could on the thick cloth. Leni was beyond protest- Oscar's foolish move was working, so far. Moreso, now that he was once again facing off against a chipped and battered shortsword. What had been a thrust against Oscar met the flat of his blade pulling upwards to deflect it, then downwards again in an overhand chop.

Moments later, another ribcage-split Hollow toppled from the ledge, only to be replaced by the next.

"_Doing alright ba-"_

"_Fire above!"_

Damn you, Oscar, stay aware! Helene pulled downward forcefully, putting all her weight onto Oscar's back. It buckled the wounded knight, for even her light frame was more than enough when paired with his armor's weight. Raising the shield, she searched the sky for the dreaded projectile-

But there were two. One was the pinwheeling, sparking orb. The other was a chopping broadsword that had seen better days. There wasn't any time to think- Leni punched with the shield.

**CRACK.**

The loud 'shink' of broadsword scraping against kite was punctuated by the sound of shield's edge coming forcefully in contact with a rusted helm, surely breaking what remained of a hollow's nose when the iron bent inwards. Sweet serendipity took the recoiling bulwark backwards, smacking away the firebomb in a shower of smoldering oil.

Rolling off her ally, the Nurse strained to pull him up- but Sir Oscar was already moving to stand, with an upwards thrust finishing off the stunned hollow. A rusted half-breastplate and sternum was no match for an Astoran point.

"_Nicely done! Didn't feel a thing!"_

"_This is mad!"_

"_You've said that! Next up!"_

~̸̡͘͢~̶͢͠~̛~͏̵~̴̀~͏͏͡~̡̢͟҉̶~̶̀~̡̀~̛͝҉͏̛~̷̧͟~́͢~̸̢͝~͟͝~̨̕͘͜~̨͜͡~̛͞~̶̸̨̛҉~̨͠~̷̢͝͞~̸̡͘͢~̶͢͠~̛~͏̵~̴̀~͏͏͡~̡̢͟҉̶~̶̀~̡̀~̛͝҉͏̛~̷̧͟~́͢~̸̢͝~͟͝~̨̕͘͜~̨͜͡~̛͞~̶̸̨̛҉~̨͠~̷̢͝͞

Estus had to have been an acquired taste, Helene was sure of it. It was spicy, for one, and only lukewarm- not the hot drink she'd imagined. Like Carim coffee, except without the decent flavor behind it. Instead, it was all ashes and soot borne forth by not imbibed liquid, but inhalation. The gas coated her throat like a paste, scorching her lungs without ever burning. Strange stuff.

Oscar had already taken a breath of it, and was rubbing sorely at his shoulder. Helene's wounds had been less startling; mere welts and burns where spilling oil had not quite been deflected. At the very least, the Estus hadn't increased the pain as they shared the bottle. When had Oscar filled it, anyway? She couldn't remember seeing it done.

"_Better than expected."_

"_We'll have to find you a decent shield, Helene, one that you can carry yourself. You were amazing, back there."_

"_I was panicked, not amazing. And I might not be strong, but I could pull **you** around. Lets see what I can scrounge up off these, hmm? ...Go take a look about, Oscar, a girl's got to have her privacy."_

Oscar laughed as he obliged her, making his way up the steps that led into the long aqueduct. The nurse looked at the four bodies that still littered the cliffside; all the others had toppled off. These last four- Oscar had been a whirlwind, once it was apparent they were all out of the firebombs. Helene didn't know what sort of fisticuffs Astora taught, but she was certain they didn't include breaking kneecaps with kicks. What had been a Balder longswordsman was now nothing more than food for the watching crow above.

At least Oscar had taken the time to ensure they were all permanently dead.

~̸̡͘͢~̶͢͠~̛~͏̵~̴̀~͏͏͡~̡̢͟҉̶~̶̀~̡̀~̛͝҉͏̛~̷̧͟~́͢~̸̢͝~͟͝~̨̕͘͜~̨͜͡~̛͞~̶̸̨̛҉~̨͠~̷̢͝͞~̸̡͘͢~̶͢͠~̛~͏̵~̴̀~͏͏͡~̡̢͟҉̶~̶̀~̡̀~̛͝҉͏̛~̷̧͟~́͢~̸̢͝~͟͝~̨̕͘͜~̨͜͡~̛͞~̶̸̨̛҉~̨͠~̷̢͝͞

"_Well?"_

"_Left side's a dead end. Big rat sitting about, but I left it alone. It was more interested in the corpse there, than I. Other side goes on for a short ways, but a cave-in blocks it off. I'd have cleared it, but with the gate in the way... even if we unlock it, there's no pushing that mess. Seems our route is predetermined. I saw stairs, at least."_

"_There's a third way?"_

"_Aye. Branches at the gate, through an archway. The aqueduct is sewage, I believe, you'll want to stop breathing for a bit. Workman's entrance- Oh my."_

She'd been waiting for him to turn around, after he'd backed out of the tunnel. Sure, it wasn't the best armor, but it was light; Helene could wear it without much issue. Better to have a little metal, rather than nothing, and finally she had clothing- however improper it might have been. Would it have been wrong to strike a pose in the half-cuirass and shinguards? The armor she'd picked had been a mishmash of what seemed light and durable, amounting to iron that covered only her ribcage and shoulders, and pair of leather briefs that at least kept her dignity intact. The knight of Balder hadn't been wearing shoes, alas, as the boots had been shinguards at one point. Helene had to make do with the leather soles others had been wearing.

Oscar was surely gawking, behind his helm. Leni could feel it. She looked amazing, and the ragged red cape she'd stolen off the Balder armor sealed the deal. That, with the unusually light and large shield from the same country- oh yes, she had to be positively **stunni-**

"_You look ridiculous. That armor's not going to protect a thing; you'd be better off with a leather toga."_

Helene was the one who gawked, actually.

"_I think I look quite fine, thank you so very much! It isn't as if I'm to be at the forefront of combat, anyway-"_

"_No, no, of course not. Helene of Catarina, Caped Beggar Knight's weapon of choice is a thrown half-brick."_

The leather gloves Leni had stolen off the dead provided a nice cushion at least, when she punched the Knight's armored bicep. Not that she could do much to him, of course- and judging by his laughter, Oscar hadn't even felt it.

"_Get it right, you twit! Its Helene of Catarina, Angel of Knights that let oversized fat-demons sneak up on them!"_

"_Oh, touche. Lets-er... get going, shall we? These bells won't ring themselves, after all!"_

"_Good plan, Oscar, good plan."_


	12. 4: The Duke

He'd abandoned them, then, in the twisting alleyways of the Underburg. His apprentices would surely manage well enough on their own; they knew the basic, most destructive arts and a number of more flexible stalthy approaches. He'd seen to it.

The wizard believed, above all else, in hands-on lessons. What would they do, without their master? Some of them would perish, surely, and others might Hollow- not all of them had been Signed, though they still followed him blindly. The last two, however- Griggs, and Wilhelm. They might just make it, and be all the stronger for it.

All they had to do was realize they could only rely upon themselves, in the same way this old sorcerer had, long ago. There was safety in solace, and few other places, for the budding magi.

Levitation was an easy magic, but not one that had been as widespread as mere Featherfall- or Fall Control, to the layman. He'd improved on that ancient magic, transformed it, discovered how to not only limit gravity but reverse it, as well. A good thing, too- without it, his destination would be impossible. Understandably, he kept this advancement to himself.

Sen's Fortress, supposedly impenetrable. A structural weapon, every corridor and walkway a trap in disguise. It loomed before him upon a cliffside so far above the forest that ringed the underburg, but just as his books had written, there laid another entrance. Though he could not read what this other alcove was supposed to be, it mattered little; supposedly it granted access to much of the fortress with minimal effort. The man in the hat knew better than to try braving the front door with naught but frail bones and robes and catalyst. Magic existed to make lives easier, not to be a mere weapon. Power- magic was power, but power did not need to be violent. Nor did the Wizard.

"_Catalys, Levis Vertus."_

Gripping the half-staff in his hand, the knobbly wood pulled upwards- and him, along with it. What a sight he must have made, the billowing robe and hat as mage took to the sky.

It wasn't flying; but it was very close. One day, perhaps.

~̢̛~̧̡̛̀͠~̵̢͝͡͞~̕~̵́͘͠~҉̴̶̸́~̀̕͘~҉͏̀̕~̨͜͏~̀̀͞͡~͏̷̕͟~̕̕͝~̵҉̴̢~́͠~̷̶͠~̧̕͞͝~̸̶̧͞~̷̷̛͠~̶̡̨̧͟~̴͢͢͟~̀͞~͘҉̡͝~̧́́͢҉~̶~̵̀~͏̀͏͜~̴̷͟~̛~҉̸͘~̸̶̡͘͞~̶̨̀͞~͘͘͞͡~͜͝~̡͟͢͞͏~͘͢͞͠͡~̢͝~̡͏͞~̸̀~́̕~҉̴̶́

A dead end, with falls on either side. It did not pass his notice that the floor was bowled, here, as if a great weight had been rolled across it. Nor did it pass his notice that the wall separating his path seemed somewhat less ancient than the rest of the structure.

It seemed to be an Oubliette. A prison made to forget its prisoners. Old skeletons still hung from the cages that dangled over pits, flanking his walkway on both sides. That was the alcove, then. A prison. No way out but down, or back the way he came. Up, as well, but not to any real effect. As large as the fortress was, the size of it was more to inspire fear and dread than to allow for additional passageways and rooms.

"_Bother."_

He did not wish to wait, here, for his pool of spectral mana to fill once more. Without the calming light of a bonfire, his excitement made meditation take far too long. There had to be another way- did the scripture speak anything of illusory walls? It was worth a look.

Perhaps he could have been forgiven for paying little attention. Very few creatures or individuals could enter the same way he had, and the machinery of Sen's trap-laden fortress made hearing an interruption nigh impossible. The sheer size of his hat did not help matters; after all, he'd chosen it for the ability it had to block out most of the world.

'Big-Hat' Logan of Vinheim never noticed the crystalline golem until it was too late, one massive embrace engulfing the sorcerer entirely- trapping him within its body.

Who could have known they were able to climb?

~̢̛~̧̡̛̀͠~̵̢͝͡͞~̕~̵́͘͠~҉̴̶̸́~̀̕͘~҉͏̀̕~̨͜͏~̀̀͞͡~͏̷̕͟~̕̕͝~̵҉̴̢~́͠~̷̶͠~̧̕͞͝~̸̶̧͞~̷̷̛͠~̶̡̨̧͟~̴͢͢͟~̀͞~͘҉̡͝~̧́́͢҉~̶~̵̀~͏̀͏͜~̴̷͟~̛~҉̸͘~̸̶̡͘͞~̶̨̀͞~͘͘͞͡~͜͝~̡͟͢͞͏~͘͢͞͠͡~̢͝~̡͏͞~̸̀~́̕~҉̴̶́

_**][This is the human? This ragged excuse for a supposed Sage of the humanfolk?][**_

Logan laid motionless upon the ground, head hidden under his hat. He'd awoken mere moments ago, though his muscles and bones felt chilled to their very core. There was no sign of the golem that had consumed him; and though none could see he was awake, the hat had the added problem of ensuring he could not see outward. A mutual blindness.

What massive voice boomed over him? It was half Astoran, half something else, the language that it spoke- and yet it was understood all the same. Perhaps spoke was the wrong word; the voice echoed in his head, like a fog horn in both ears.

The other voice in this room, by comparison, was muffled and impossible to interpret. Thankfully it did not go on for long. Where was he?

_**][There has been a grievous error. This one is dead, it does not draw breath. Useless to me, now. Explain yourself, and hope you've the wrong human!][**_

The muffled response sounded of apology, and plaintive explanation. If only Logan did not feel so cold; he could easily have cast himself away, made an escape. There existed many ways of summoning mist, or simple flashes of light that blinded pursuers.

_**][The Darksign? This one is Branded? Serendipitous. Arise, Logan of Vinland, if that be your name. I, Seath the Scaleless, Duke of Anor Londo, Keeper of the Archives, Crystalline Dragon, demand your attention when I speak to you! Ignore my call, and you shall face my wrath as the wretched mortal you are!][**_

Slowly, gingerly, Logan raised his head; one hand going to his hat to hold it in place as one foot found firm ground- then another. Free palm fumbled for his catalyst, but it was lost; all he could do was stand, agape at the sight before him.

"_Oh, bugger **me**."_

Curiosity seemed to have it in for sorcerers, as well as felines, these days.

~̢̛~̧̡̛̀͠~̵̢͝͡͞~̕~̵́͘͠~҉̴̶̸́~̀̕͘~҉͏̀̕~̨͜͏~̀̀͞͡~͏̷̕͟~̕̕͝~̵҉̴̢~́͠~̷̶͠~̧̕͞͝~̸̶̧͞~̷̷̛͠~̶̡̨̧͟~̴͢͢͟~̀͞~͘҉̡͝~̧́́͢҉~̶~̵̀~͏̀͏͜~̴̷͟~̛~҉̸͘~̸̶̡͘͞~̶̨̀͞~͘͘͞͡~͜͝~̡͟͢͞͏~͘͢͞͠͡~̢͝~̡͏͞~̸̀~́̕~҉̴̶́

There were few things in this world that could cause 'Big-Hat' Logan to remove his namesake. It was a good hat, and served its purpose well; the gold embroidery still held firm around its two-foot-wide rim, and every coin he'd spent on the tight-fitting garment was well worth it. Besides, it covered his balding skull, a sore point for the aging wizard.

Wouldn't you do the same, however, if you were faced with the greatest magical mind Lordran had ever known? Duke Seath was inspiring; a pale dragon both lithe and terrifying in massive stature. A living testament to magic's beauty, shrouded in pairs of gossamer wings that seemed more glass than chitin and displayed every sweet color of an unknown rainbow. Dextrous and powerful long-fingered hands that could have held him in one palm, capable of rending foes as easily as it could turn the pages of a book.

Beauty, above the waist. Beneath it, however, the metaphor of Seath's arcane nature showed its violence. What was once a dragon's legs and tail instead became three long and thick tentacles that wrapped and curled crushingly about its environment. Every inch of them, encrusted with armor of the Duke's own design; shimmering prisms, indomitably tough and leaps behind the legendary stone scales of his kin.

According to fables, Seath had been born without the scales that granted dragons insulation from all the world, thereby making them immortal. Enraged at being so weak, he had turned upon his kin with the help of the Flame God, Gwyn- and triumphed, securing a new world for Himself as well as the God. He'd been named a Duke for his deeds, and devoted his still-long life to prolonging himself.

Fables spoke of him succeeding, and Logan could easily see how.

Seath was the very paradigm of self-improvement, and Logan's own efforts in the same field paled in comparison. For the first time in his life, the old sorcerer was certain he stood in front of someone whose mind surpassed his own.

_**][Ah. You do yet live. Good. I had begun to think my Channelers were lax in their control.][**_

"_I- I do, milord. Where am I?"_

_**][The Archives. My archives. You have been granted the privilege of entering my home, Darksigned human. See that you do not abuse it. You are Logan of Vinheim, yes?][**_

What could the Wizard say, as Seath twisted his lower limbs about the massive crystals that jutted from every wall and inch of floor? That his intent had been to steal within, and seek as much knowledge as he could before he was discovered? Such an admission would have resulted in the worst Seath could give him, surely. Best to remain tight-lipped, until a suitable lie presented itself. Logan could only nod to the booming words in his head, as ink-stained hands fidgeted with the rim of his hat.

"_I am."_

_**][What glyph would best supplement the spell known as Aural Decoy if one wished to create an earsplitting noise around yourself, as opposed to a distracting sound at range, and what glyph would you replace it with so that others might cast it easily, rather than increasing the difficulty of such a spell?][**_

Logan blinked. The Duke Seath the Scaleless, Keeper of the Archives, Crystalline Dragon, had brought the possibly-greatest human mind in Lordran here to ask him a hypothetical question on altering a cantrip spell? The Duke was jesting with him! This was a taunt! A trick! A joke! Perhaps Seath was leaps and bounds beyond his own magic, but still there was some respect he felt he deserved- **wait**.

"_You are testing me."_

In an instant, Logan regretted his words. Like a snake, the head of Seath whipped forwards on his long neck, stopping inches from the wizard's face. Face-to-face with the regal visage of the reptilian Duke,

Logan could barely refrain from cowering. Well, at least that was how he'd tell it later; Logan would never admit that when confronted so, his body could only stumble aback in the minted breath of the Dragon.

The howling telepathy of Seath, this time, was coupled with a very real roar.

_**][I am. Deception is common in your species. If you believed for an instant that adopting the name Logan would save your filthy hide from me, then Logan you would become until you could escape. Humans have not the honor they play at, no pride in who they are, no respect for their betters and no consistency save their lies. So answer- or perish, human.][**_

Logan had raised his hat, between himself and the white eyes of the Duke. Anything, to not stare into the creamy white pupils of Seath. As the dragon drew away once more, however, Logan felt he could replace his hat- coughing once, as his expression was once more hidden.

"_Fair. I shall give you an in-depth answer, then, Duke Seath. The most-used glyphs to cast Aural Decoy are that of Speech, Voca, and Projectile, Projus, the former being more complex than the other when used to create actual words- except in the case of Aural Decoy, as most magi never attempt to progress it beyond repetitive laughter. The other method, less-known yet still viable, is to replace Speech, or Voca, with the glyph of Noise, or Noss, resulting in a spell that is easier to cast yet less effective when attempting to fool others as to your position."_

_**][Doing well so far, but any mage can bandy words about what already exists. You try my patience.][**_

"_Getting there, milord. You'll find I think out loud, at times, when paper and quill elude me. As I was saying, the Glyph of Noise differs from that of Speech for it only produces a pitched note of your choice, whereas Speech can have a more convoluted and intelligible outcome. For the purposes of an 'earsplitting' sound that does not increase the difficulty of the wider-known Aural Decoy, I would suggest that one use the former. Given that I am disallowed, I assume, from adding additional glyphs to the spell in question-"_

_**][You are. Go on.][**_

"_-As well as altering **both** glyphs-"_

_**][You could, though t'would be more impressive if you did not.][**_

"_The best, and most simple course of action would be to simply replace the 'Projectile' glyph with the glyph of Burst. As the word for Burst is 'Expa', and far more difficult than that of Projectile, one could mitigate this factor by actually reciting the obvious intonation- 'Expa Noss' -to lower the mentally taxing requirements- almost perfectly level with the difficulty of the original spell. Instead of Burst, one could use Circle, or Sirc, but I'd imagine that using such a defensive glyph would reduce efficacy and increase duration. It would be sneakier, however, as one wouldn't need to recite the glyphs in order to be level with Aural Decoy. You could-"_

_**][Enough!][**_

Seathe's mind-destroying objection was accompanied by another all-too-real snarl. Logan, jerked forcibly from his chain of thought, realized that he'd gone a bit too far.

"_A-apologies."_

_**][Evidently the knowledge of glyphs does not escape you. Now, prove your might can meet your words. Shatter this chamber's crystals, if you can, with naught but the two-glyph spell you have proposed- or give good reason why you cannot, human mage, at risk of death. Channeler, give him his stick.][**_

A clatter, at Logan's feet. His catalyst, unharmed, had been tossed roughly to rest against the floor. A furtive glance backwards revealed a rather quiet giant in thick robes, a full-head mask that displayed no less than six black eyes. This was a Channeler, then. Why did they carry such garish tridents? Nevermind.

Crouching low, the wizard's hand closed about his catalyst, the gnarled rod that had gotten him so far. It was a wondrous, familiar sensation that gave him back a small portion of his fading ego. This 'stick' had been his Master's, his Master's Master's. It had cast more types of spell than Logan had years. If wood could speak, this catalyst would surely have advanced magic further than Logan ever had.

Without it, Logan was nothing but a frail old man who knew too much.

With it, a wizard could stand against the world and smile.

"_I am no fool, Duke Seath. You intended to test me, and now you intend to trap me. Any lesser man would have fallen for such a demand."_

_**][Pardon?][**_

Seath leaned forward, growls rising in that alabaster throat. Logan knew he was playing a dangerous game; who could know the minds of dragons? This time, however, Big-Hat Logan would stand firm. He had his weapon back. If Seath sought to kill him, then fine- immortal or no, Logan would be remembered.

Beneath that ridiculous hat, a grim smirk found its way across his wrinkles.

"_If you want to destroy me, Duke Seath, then do so yourself- I'll not harm myself at your whim. There are better ways to perish than at your own hand, and I can think of few more palpable than dying to a more knowledgeable caster."_

What was that sound, in the Dragon's lungs? Chuckling? Snickering? It mirrored the suspicious sound of his voice, that contained hidden glee at what Logan was to say next.

_**][Why?][**_

Logan took a deep breath, partially to give him the air he'd need to speak. Partially because it was a human habit to inhale before breaking bad news. It certainly wasn't because he needed the oxygen.

"_That two-glyph spell **would** shatter the crystals if maintained at a precise measure of pitch, yes. However, that same spell holds absolutely no protection for its caster. The volume required to destroy any given target would cause irreparable and more vicious damage to the one that used it, due to the difference in distance. Were I to attempt it, successful or not, I would be deaf in half-seconds if not dead outright."_

He wasn't imagining it. The stuttering growls of Seath had indeed been chuckles, evidenced by his next reaction to this ill information.

Laughter. It made the crystals ring, the walls shake. When Seath the Scaleless laughed, the Archives laughed with him.

_**][So this is Big-Hat Logan. Logan of Vinheim. Logan the Glyphreader. Logan the Spellshaper. Logan, the one true mage of the human race. I am impressed, that the human race has managed to come this far in such a small amount of time- even if only for one man's caution. More than that, I am pleased.][**_

"_I am glad. Presumably, this means I keep my unlife, yes?"_

_**][More than that, Logan. Much more than that. Many times more than that. Welcome to my Archives, Comrade Logan. It has been some time since I found one so near my intellect. Feel free to explore, at your leisure. Nothing is closed off to you, save the Courtyard's crystal pit- and there is naught for you to learn down there, in any case, save how gravity is a cruel mistress.][**_

Not for the first time since being brought here, Logan was awestruck.

"_You can't be serious- all of the Archives? Mine, to peruse? I-... I-..."_

_**][You doubt my words, Logan? Were it not for the humorous irony in such an instance, I would be enraged. Best to watch that, human- I am Dragon, not ape. Such cruel jests are beneath me.][**_

"_I-I see. I would love to get started, Duke Seath. I'll not disappoint you! This, I promise!"_

_**][See that you do not. When you have the walk of the place memorized, human, we will speak again. There is much we must discuss, though time is not yet an issue. Channeler, you are to be Logan's guard. See that the human comes to no harm, and that the Servants do not bother him.][**_

Escorted from the chamber by the trident-wielding giant, Logan couldn't help but feel a question brewing in the back of his too-intelligent brain. He knew better than to ask, yet- was anxious to look about, in fact- but it didn't stop him from wondering.

'Time is not yet an issue', Seath had spoken.

Only yet? How soon would it become one? What had Seath called him here for, that the Dragon could not accomplish himself with his massive wisdom?

A better question was why the Duke was so lucid, when fables spoke of him going quite mad...


	13. Act 2 Finale (Pt 1)

"_Ugh. My head..."_

The Nexus was always quiet. Those rare occasions when anyone was speaking, it was because they were greeting some new incoming wanderer to their own, personal hell. All the world beyond these walls had been overcome a demon's playground, and the Maiden assured every last one of them that it was only growing in size.

Soon, she had said, no new attempts would be made- every town, every village would be under the Old One's thumb. There would be no new heroes, no would-be seekers of power, no treasure hunters. Boletaria and the rest of the world would be lost to the Fog.

Even recently, what the Warrior called 'tourists' had been few in number. How long, since the last one? Weeks? It mattered little. They were all doomed, it was only a matter of time.

Worse was this blasted migraine. How could a spirit have a damn headache?! The warrior was not alone in this- Thomas, the hoarder, complained of the occasional pang of discomfort. He had suspicions that their resident blacksmith did as well, but the stoic swordbeater rarely spoke.

Perhaps the Maiden knew what was going on. Failing that, he'd ask to see the Monumental above- though he hated climbing those steps.

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

It had been two days, though the sun never set in Anor Londo. Logan kept track, by how often he felt the need to return to the bonfires scattered about Seath's Archives. There were three of them: one by the entrance, blockaded by Seath's power; one in the main libraries, and one in the prison.

Ah, the prison. Logan felt that this was the cruelest place he'd seen yet, in all of Lordran. Like the other massive rooms of the Archives, this building's walls were festooned with old books from ages gone by. A circular tower, massive in scope and ringed with a spiral stairway that must surely have been a thousand steps or more. It made little sense to taunt its inhabitants with so much knowledge, just beyond the bars of their cells, ringing the stairs- but Logan supposed that Seath wanted no part of teaching those he'd imprisoned.

A blessing, to be captured and on the other side of those bars, rather than within. Logan was uncertain his mental fortitude would have been able to suffer the irony of being held in a place where he could only stare at the stores of knowledge. At least all the prisoners Seath kept were hollows, or strange, crying monsters.

All, but one.

"_You have strange dress. Royalty? Not Vinheim garb, nor Astoran."_

The strange woman did not respond to him, her back to the door. Well, it was surely a royal dress, or had been, at one point. Logan recognized white silks and purple thread, though the fabric was dirty, ragged and torn towards the bottom. No commoner could afford that sort of garb, and very few nobles. More telling was what he glimpsed of a feather-worked golden circlet, through the matted strands of brunette hair.

Expensive stuff. What biological error had given her those long, pointed ears?

Logan tapped his catalyst, before clearing his throat and trying again. A shame that the old wizard was none-too-adept at speaking with others. What was an attempt at kindness, he'd learned, could be considered patronizing.

"_I am not-"_

"_You **are** wasting your words, my captor. I am no stranger to imprisonment, and your attempts at interrogation will avail you nothing. Be kind, be cruel, it matters not."_

Logan's eyebrows raised, under the massive hat. Interrogation? The wizard certainly hadn't thought of it as such! Ah, but there was why he'd kept apprentices in the first place. Griggs had been most effective at speaking his intent for him. If only Logan had known what was to come; no doubt the lad would have been agape to see the events that had unfolded recently!

Well, when diplomacy fails (and it usually did, for Logan) and caution accomplishes little, be bold. Turning his head to the Channeler that had been quietly following him these past few days, a simple motion would be all it would take to request the massive sorcerer to step away. The gnarled catalyst, from his belt to his hand, and...

" _Projus Aera!"_

Logan had scarce need to recite many of his spells' incantations. Few were so difficult that the added control applied by having a verbal component aided him much; but the wizard was long-used to doing so, that his apprentices could learn by watching. That, and Big-Hat Logan did have a small amount of flair for the dramatic. Wouldn't you, when you could tell the forces of the world to shut up and pay attention?

**THOOM!**

To her credit, the woman within did not even flinch as Logan's altered Soul Arrow shattered the rusted lock. No normal soul arrow could accomplish such a feat, and the wizard was slightly miffed that she hadn't been paying attention. He'd had to, rather than the standard act of binding malleable spectral energy into a simple ball, actually use a physical form of attack against the non-living target. In this case, it had been air- the clear element, condensed into a compacted ball of explosive force. Logan had almost lost his grip on the catalyst, when it fired! Of course, that was why spectral energy was more commonly used for offensive spells. Using material forces tended to introduce a wide range of proble-

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

Ferth was a simple creature. He enjoyed his work; after all, it was what he'd been created for. In his downtime, he kept his trident polished and ensured that his robes were intact and clean. Most of his duties entailed going out into the world and finding naive human women, to return to his Master- his immortality, after all, was sustained only by waxing the essence of purity upon the primordial crystal. A great many of them were needed, of course- no human was wholly pure.

The specifics of such details eluded Ferth, but he'd gathered that the so-called 'pisaca' in the prison's lower areas had something to do with it, guarded as they were by his master's snake-men. It was hardly important; what mattered was that his Master, the one who had constructed him out of cloth and flesh, achieved his every desire. For now, it was the protection of this elder human, and Ferth was more than willing to comply.

'Don't let him in the crystal cave', 'don't let harm come to him'. Those were the orders. They said nothing about keeping the elder undead from opening the prison's cells, unfortunately.

Ferth never even had time to defend himself, as all six of his eyes began to melt.

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

Coughing, spluttering, Logan tried in vain to peer through the smoke caused by exploding lock and whatever the prisoner had done. It had been his mistake, to try and speak through it; if he hadn't made the effort, such dust would scarcely have been a problem.

"_W-cghk-wait!"_

"_For what? For my tormentors to muster a defensive?"_

His idiocy- Logan had lost himself in thought, upon successful casting of an altered spell. A lack of foresight there, and it had given the odd woman quite the opportunity.

"_N-no, I... Gahk! Just want... hgk- to talk. Mean you no-"_

"_Harm? You expect me to believe that? Twice imprisoned this last month, and hounded at every turn? Even if you are **not** comrades with the false king, trusting your intentions would be a massive failing in foresight. There are no allies of the crown left here, least of all ones that would capture and hold me."_

Logan used the time she took to speak, coughing vigorously and using his free hand to wave his hat. The sooner he could clear this dust, the better.

"_Allies of- Ghk! **What** crown?! Where do you think you are? This is not Astora, woman!"_

His hat in one hand, Logan had full view of her now.

She was not tall; if anything, this woman was of average height. Perhaps a little less. Height, however, mattered little to royalty. This woman was indeed noble. Though scratches and scabs marred the too-pale skin, her pride and haughty stoicism shone through like a beacon; amplified, by the beauty of her slender face. Despite the fact that Logan never truly had interest in the opposite gender, the sheer grace of this woman was causing him to consider that it might not have been a bad idea to give certain activities a try. That is, before he'd been Darksigned. Shame.

It didn't help matters that Logan knew her stance as one that mages took, from a position of power. Both feet close together, one arm extended forth and clutching their catalyst; the other hidden, behind a body standing side to the fore. It was all body language; 'you're mine, and there's nothing you can do to stop me'. She pulled it off wonderfully.

But why wasn't she holding a catalyst? That white-gloved (or once-white, anyway) left hand was empty.

"_**What crown**? You are full of sick little lies- or is that a taunt? ...no..."_

That hard, blue-eyed gaze softened, then, something Logan didn't think would come so quickly; or indeed, at all.

"_You are not, are you. You know nothing, of me. Your expression betrays it- no one could lie so blatantly and expect me to believe them. Therefore, it must be truth. Mustn't it."_

Down came the hand, then, a worried sorrow crossing the noble's features. Relieved that he wouldn't be forced into a mages' duel, it was Logan's prerogative to cough once; clearing the remainder of the dust from his lungs as hat and catalyst were replaced. His head and belt, respectively.

"_An intelligent observation." _Logan spared a glance at the smoking mark where there once stood a hulking Channeler. _"I think I'd have preferred it if you'd come to it sooner, however. I don't think Duke Seath will be pleased, about that one."_

He was almost surprised to see her blanch, looking away in shame.

"_I overreacted. I should have heard you out; I- I am sorry. These past months have... been trying, for me. Horribly so. Still, that is not an excuse for my actions. I am no better than the Demon usurping my kingdom, in that. ...Was he a friend of yours?"_

"_Not as such, no. A bodyguard, I think, though I have the sneaking suspicions it served more as a gaoler. If you don't mind my asking, madam, what kingdom knows how to manipulate fire with no flame? Magic, with no catalyst? What you've done is neither pyromancy nor the arcane arts, and I see no talisman of the gods upon your person. And your pointed ears- you're not human, are you."_

She was quiet, then. Idly, Logan brushed his foot along the soot mark where his jailor once stood. At least the flame hadn't set fire to any books; such a disastrous thing would have killed his conscience.

"_What is 'Human'? ...No. I am Hylian. I am Zelda, of Hyrule- True Princess, to the usurped throne."_

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

"_It vhas no' supposed to be like zhis..."_

He'd found her, then, atop the third flight of spiral stairs. The Maiden in Black. Wrapped in those ragged ribbons, her face hidden by one hand.

"_Maiden- something odd is going on with all of us. I've been getting visions, as of late- things that can't have happened, yet-"_

He was startled to a stop, as the waxfaced woman sunk to her wrapped knees. Her hand, letting go of that candle-tipped pole. Quite the din it made, bouncing against the ground like a dropped pin.

Clatter.

"_It vhas **no'** supposed to be like zhis at all..."_

Clatter. Clink.

"_Maiden?"_

The chainmail'd warrior almost reached out to her, to grasp her shoulder and perhaps offer some solace. He hadn't much hope anyway, but what meager comfort he could give was surely called for. Something stopped him, though.

The wall.

The walls of the Nexus were usually bare- sleek architecture that forsake decoration in lieu of drawing attention to the massive statue suspended between the flights of stairs, at the center of the tower. Now, though...

Before, there had only been five, and a broken sixth. The Archstones. Stone monoliths that served as gateways for the travelers brought to the Nexus, that orchestrated attacks might be made upon the Old One's servants. Each one led to one kingdom or another, all of them now decrepit and overcome for more than a century. They had fallen one after another, those kingdoms and far-off lands, for none yet who had arrived at the Nexus had the sheer willpower to destroy even one of the Old One's Archdemons.

Now there were ten that graced only this wall, ghostly in comparison to the original five and sixth. The warrior didn't know what to think of it; were the Archstones' appearances tied to the number of Archdemons under the Old One's grasp?

"_Maiden, what does the Monumental have to say? I know you don't want others going up to speak with her, but if this was unexpected, then perhaps she has some answers-"_

"_Zhe Monumental is dead. Died, zhis 'our past."_

It was beyond the warrior even to offer a muffled 'what'. Instead, he could only gape in silence as she continued.

"_It vould be pointless, even, to try and speak vhis her had she lived. I know vhat is happening. An' vhe are powerless t' stop it."_

"_W-what's going on?"_

Her hand fell away- face craning upwards as a grim smirk of self-hatred came across normally calm and inviting features. He could see why she'd been covering her face.

The wax was melting.

"_Time alvays flowed oddly in zhat place. I zhought I could control it to m' own ends. I vas wrong. So **wrong**. An' ve are **all** going to perish for m' hubris. Who could control a vorld's Timelines vizhout conseqvence? I zhought I had mapped out all zhe possibilities. I zhould 'ave **known** a vorld as strange as Lordran 'ad a few more **tricks** up its' sleeve."_

The warrior was beyond trying to comprehend, or even stop her. There was something in the crimson light that shined through her wax, making him absolutely terrified.

"_So many zhings unknown to us- and now I know zhem all, even as zhey change for zhe vorse. I vill say zhis- in life, I did m' 'omevork. Astora is Boletaria. Vinheim is Latria. Zhe Valley of Defilement, most uf Lordran. Zhe shadowkings took root upon zhe ruins of Carim, after sh- after **I** lost m'self. An' Stonefang mines, an archaeological dig into zhe dead city uf Catarina. More zhan zhat- zhe Nexus vhas zhe Kiln. An' in Ash Lake dwells zhe Old One."_

"_What- what are you talking about, Maiden? What does this all mean?"_

He'd never heard the Maiden laugh, least of all that sarcastic chuckle. It was a chilling sound.

"_It means m' name is Velka, zhe greatest sinner of zhem all! Lordran severed i'self from i's own future t' save zhe lives zhat come later, an' I undid zhat selfless zhing like a fool! You zhink zhese headaches are a a malady, Prince Lassen? You zhink zhese memories are a trick? Vhe are regaining our **history**, warrior, and now zhis vorld, and all zhe vorlds **near** it, are lost forever!"_

Chuckling turned to sniffles; turned to tears, as the last of her wax met the stone floor. Eyes of scarlet, weeping blood, marred the tile. The demon inside her, possessing her- only the Monumental's wax kept the hellishly-resurrected Velka from falling into the Old One's thrall. It wouldn't be long, now. She had, perhaps, a handful of days.

"_Not even zhe Nexus is safe, anymore. Not from me. Y' an' I share vun zhing in common, Lassen. Vhe bozh died a long time ago, in a differen' place. Now? Vhe get to die again. Y', vhiz only th' sin uf being a coward. I, vhiz m' 'ands stained red from zhe blood uf vorlds."_

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

The graves were silent.

The graves were always silent.

Silence was the domain of death, and death was **his** domain.

The shambling skeletons never spoke. Bodies never whispered. **He** knew that no sound ever came into the graves of fallen Giants.

But today was different. Different from any other day. The Lord of Graves had been roused from the slumber of death by a burning pull.

A flame. **The** flame. One could not fail to recognize it, having glimpsed it once- even so long ago, remembrance of the Great Flame was impossible to lose.

It was dim, being so far away; but it resonated within the soul of Law he held, like a lighthouse's beacon through deep fog. With it came his stirring interest. Why was it not in the Kiln? Had that cowardly witch, Quelana, finally managed to do what her mother could not?

Nito had awoken, and his questioning skulls gazed out from the walls of his sarcophagus. Noseless apertures sniffed the air, from under the veil of a black cloak.

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

**}{Mine father, be strong- None in Anor Londo abandon you, and though I know not if you can hear me, know that the image of the sun still burns brightly atop your throne. 'Tis only a little longer, father, before a suitable candidate is found to take your place, and be kindling for the Kiln. I, Gwyndolin, shall ensure this, and shall not forsake you-}{**

The child of moonlight froze, in mid-prayer. An interruption, passing the illusion that hid the tomb of Gwyn. Who dared-

"_Master Gwyndolin. Master Gwyndolin, are you there?"_

The firekeeper. **Gwyndolin's** firekeeper, and one of his most valiant blades to boot. The deity of moonlight could forgive **her**.

**}{I am, Firekeeper Lavian. Speak, mine disciple. Be quick- thou hast arrived at inopportune time.}{**

"_Soon to be opportune, I think, Master Gwyndolin. You should venture from your father's tomb- while I'll not trespass upon Lord Gwyn's resting place, there are ...things... you must know, and see."_

**}{Truly? Entice me.}{**

"_I can feel the Flame of Flames, Master Gwyndolin, and stalwart, righteous warriors have ...arrived, through unknown passages of blood... in Anor Londo. They seek guidance. They need the word of a God."_

The sound of Gwyndolin's catalyst falling to the ground carried even past the Tomb itself.

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

The Abyss was empty. That was what defined the abyss; void of color, life, and even death.

Blackness stretched unimaginably for miles around, though it led nowhere. The Abyss was inescapable, even for those that ruled within it. Only the Serpent, their lord and master, was able to freely come and go, and the Darkstalker had not been seen since they had accepted his invitation to the dark.

Having consumed all form of vibrancy from the world beneath, the Ancient Four had nothing to do but wait. The Four Kings, of New Londo. Sealed here, by their once-benefactor Gwyn. All emotions but their hunger had been consumed long ago, or so they thought.

For the first time in decades, the Kings knew interest. It was only a hint, so far into the abyss; only a hint that grew into desire, then finally into a raging hunger they had never known before.

Each of them, given a piece of Gwyn's Lord-Soul. A meager chunk of the First Flame, resting in their ghostly ribs.

The flames were calling out to what they knew was their whole self, untainted.

The Kings only waited for a chance to consume it.

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

_**][Ah. The human wizard returns, with one of my Channelers' findings. Opportune, as my reason for bringing you here concerns this matter.][**_

Logan's new acquaintance was stoic, staring upwards at the crystalline behemoth of beauty and ferocity. He could tell quite easily that she'd not laid eyes on him before, however. This 'Princess' was looking the dragon over, as if for the first time. Zelda was evidently no stranger to magnificent creatures.

"_She speaks of having come from a land that does not exist in our world, milord. I have traveled to many places, even the Far East, and I've never even heard word of a place called Hyrule. More odd is the fact that she was unable to pinpoint it upon my maps. Normally I would discount this as deceit, but she has odd biological traits and unfamiliar crests upon her clothing. Stranger still is how she manipulates arcana."_

_**][Oh?][**_

"_As the dragons do or did. As you surely do. No catalyst."_

_**][As dragons, our bones are our catalysts, Logan. If this odd human female casts without one, surely she must have a same or like trait. What say you, hmm? Female?][**_

The Duke leaned forwards; that serpentine neck winding down from his seat of crystals to a mere foot from the Hyrulian's face.

It was all Logan could do to not clap, when her proud frame did not falter.

"_What say I? I say that I do not appreciate being called human, especially when you speak it as an obvious insult. I am Princess Zelda of Hyrule, my kingdom overthrown or no- and I am Hylian. I know nothing of what a 'human' is."_

Logan was surprised to note that dragons could manipulate the folds of their eyelids much like a human would their eyebrows. Surprise- the Duke was surprised, that horrible growl of a chuckle rising in the dragon's throat. Fearing what was to come next, Logan could only hide his face behind that obnoxious hat... for Seath was inhaling through the nose. All dragons had the power of elemental breath- some could spew a metallic liquid of high voltage, others could spout flame like geysers; what was Seath's? It was only Logan's self-preservative instinct that kept him from watching, on the off chance it was hot enough at this distance to melt his eyes-

-Only to feel a gust of air. The sound of a thump, a feminine grunt. Logan spared a peek.

The Duke had breathed upon the Princess, knocking her over with the force of mere air.

_**][She speaks the truth. Smells nothing like a human, aside from a few fleshy similarities. Different organs- some of which, I do not recognize. Tell me, 'Princess' Zelda, are all of your kind as haughty as you in the face of those who could destroy them with a whim- yet choose not to? It seems quite difficult to manage, in diplomacy.][**_

She was already standing. Logan had to admire her tenacity- but why was it that Zelda'd kept her right hand within a pocket for all this time? Even before he'd released her, the Hyrulian had kept it hidden. One would have thought she'd rather use both, to pick herself up with.

"_Your threats mean nothing, dragon. The one thing that remains to me is my pride; you shall not have it. If perish I must, then perish I will- my head held high."_

Logan replaced his hat for the third time these past few days. This was the talk of madness!

"_Now hold on, Zelda. You can't possibly mean that."_

_**][Agreed. That is Hollow speech. Unbecoming of a ruler for any nation.][**_

"_I do mean it."_

But once again, the blue-eyed gaze had lost its stoic hardness. For just a few degrees, that regal head had declined downwards, staring at the floor.

"_My kingdom was my life. Its people, my blood. Its buildings, my bones. Its streets, my tendons and veins. I am a dead woman walking, dragon. A corpse. A shadow. The prophesied hero was my hope, and even he lies destroyed. The incarnation of Wisdom was my own strength, but that was torn from me when the Demon took my hand."_

"_In marriage?"_

Logan raised an eyebrow, blinking. Was this woman betrothed to the spawn of Lost Izalith?

"_No."_

And Logan saw that he was wrong. Still holding her body proudly, upright, Zelda emptied her pocket of that hidden right hand.

A hand that did not exist. In its place was a marred stump, cauterized without skill. The flesh and skin around it was blackened and bubbled, flat save the splintered shard of a bone that jutted from the intact majority of her forearm. Jarring, the sight of that royal princess's beauty meeting the horror at the end of her elbow.

_**][I wondered what that odor of brimstone was.][**_

"_Oh my."_

"_Everything, save my pride- the knowledge that I did the best I could. So do your worst."_

Turning to the massive, crystal beast, Logan could only wait and see. If Seath did have a mind to destroy Zelda, there was precious little the Wizard could do to stop him. Did his new master have so much cruelty? Hopefully not.

_**][You speak of a 'prophesied hero'. I do not put much stock in such things; not since it has become apparent, to me, that such heroes are the byproduct of a manipulator achieving their own ends. Nevermind. Logan, what words do you have on this matter? You may know of things I do not- newer scriptures from elsewhere in the world have not entered my Archives in quite some time. This is why you are here. Do not disappoint me.][**_

Would it be wrong to say Logan felt a swelling of his own pride at Seath's admission? Sure, speaking of being so isolated was not exactly bowing to a superior mind- but it was something, at least. Now, what **did** he know? Logan coughed. Aha! Wilhelm's thesis!

"_I do indeed have something that may put this into perspective, Duke Seath. One of my apprentices submitted a paper to me, but a year ago, detailing planar interactions and the possible ramifications of hypothetical events. I refused him a grading, considering Wilhelm was **supposed** to be detailing astrological signs and their effects upon common spells, but-"_

_**][No tangents, Logan. None of us have the patience.][**_

"_Ah. At any rate- Lordran's timeline has always been a bit... muddled, shall we say? Events close to one another tend to tie themselves together indistinguishably, and in some areas of the world time flows faster or slower depending on your location and actions? Not only this, but our world has multiple instances- using some forms of magic, arcane or otherwise, one can shunt themselves into a separate variation on the same place, correct? Many old legends actually use this as a form of-"_

_**][Yes, Logan, this fact is well known. Continue.][**_

"_Yes. Well. Wilhelm's Thesis was based around this, and detailed possibilities that could arise should our world's already-muddled timeline be altered in some way. There were a number of possibilities, but one stands out with the evidence before us. Wilhelm theorized that there was one 'Pure' timeline that had, at one point, existed- shattered, through unknown means. He arranged these 'shattered' timelines in an expanding cloud, and believed that the closer you came to the 'center' of this cloud, the closer you came to the 'true' timeline. Conversely, if you stepped **away** from the center, you would-"_

_**][-find more false timelines. Faster, Logan. We are not idiots, nor mere students.][**_

Logan grunted, trying hard to keep his temper. Being interrupted, really, was something he was not used to enduring well. That, and the interruptions broke his train of thought.

"_The soapstones, the enchanted orbs and crystals used to shunt one person temporarily into another 'world', were his proof of this. Wilhelm believed that such things were the byproduct of our shattered worlds clashing against one another, shards of the tenuous membrane surrounding each splintered timeline. Using them brought the worlds they had come from closer together, allowing an individual to step freely between them temporarily."_

_**][How does this explain a soapstone bringing you to a different world than it did previously, with multiple uses?][**_

"_It doesn't, and I questioned the same thing. Wilhelm hadn't thought hard enough, on this- if anything, the soapstones and Eye orbs are a byproduct of when the Timelines shattered in the first place. This would give the variable of such multiple ties, as well as explain how it works- when active, the soapstone only calls to the **closest** world, not a specific one."_

_**][Ah. Continue.][**_

"_Of course, towards the end of the paper, he was rambling, somewhat- going on about how, since the soapstones and eyestones were gradually becoming more and more powerful and instantaneous, that the shattered timelines must be moving closer together, and that he believed we 'had to prepare' for when they met once more. That, though, doesn't explain why the soapstones ceased working at all a year ago."_

_**][Did he offer a reason?][**_

"_No... but then, the paper was written **five** years ago. I believe he threw it away, after I told him it was ludicrous. It was strange, to me- Wilhelm was always a level-headed lad, like Freke."_

Logan paused.

"_I believe I owe him an apology."_

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

"_Maide- er. Velka, you're rambling- and your accent makes it **very** hard to understand you when you're like this. I've never **seen** you like this-"_

"_Uf course y' 'ave not! Zhe Monumentals sealed avay m' emotions an' memories, along vis zhe demon! More proof!"_

He was shoved, then, roughly. The warrior- or Prince Lassen, as she insisted on calling him, was entirely taken aback. Sure, he was a tough sort- but somehow her strength surpassed his balance. Looking up from his new seat on the floor, 'Lassen' could only think on how terrifying her stature was, now.

"_I vill start from zhe beginning, shall I? Vould zhat ease yeh'r confusion? An' I vill speak **slowly**, to alleviate yeh'r poor ears from **our** accent. Zhis is zhe only time I vill have to relate zhe story- best I confess to m' sins now, no?"_

"_**Our** accent? You've lost your mind entirely, have you?"_

She laughed, again, and Lassen could only flinch. Somewhere in her lungs was the cackle of a hellspawn. It echoed oddly, almost in reverse. Lassen could almost hear the sound, before Velka emitted it.

"_Yes! I lost m' mind a long time ago, in a land far avay an' so close ve are in it now! If only it could be so simple!"_

She leaned in, then. Kneeled, even as Lassen sprawled where she'd shoved him. Her face, inches from his- gone was that manic grin of sarcastic glee. In its place, a more honest sorrow.

"_Lassen... Prince Lassen. If zhere eh'sists an afterlife for deities zhat did zheir best, zhen I vill never see it. At least 'ear m' out- know vhy ve are dying, now. Zhe most I can do now, for zhe humans I vatched over- I can give y' somevun to **blame**."_

What could Lassen do, but listen?

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

I was Velka.

We were the first, watching the Darkness. I, and my Sister Fina. My father, Flann.

We were three of a kind, and knew that in our bones. My Father was Birth, I was the Trial, and Fina was Success. Creation, to Endeavor, to Perfection.

We knew not from where we came, but we were not of this dark world. We were not of the strange creatures that inhabited it; dragons of stone, and men of flesh. The latter, blind and merely prey for the undying scaled ones. Some, larger than others. Eating each other, being eaten themselves- the Darkness rendered their differences moot, and mindless, only the mouths of primordial lizards giving their pitiful lives peace.

Pointless. Despite the blood and terror, nothing was gained nor lost; the dragons only relished in the agony they gave smaller beings, as we could see it. No matter how many times their prey was eaten, there was always more- and hunger was sole motivation. I found boredom in this, for my soul gained strength from good will- not from mindless sadism. My sister, Fina, found disgust. The incarnation of beauty and happiness, this was hardly her ideal atmosphere.

My father only found sorrow. Flann was one with Light and Life; this was not life. Nothing aged, here. Not the Archtrees of wood and titanite, not the Dragons of everlasting stone, not the Prey of flesh alone.

Life was overcoming yourself. Life was striving to be better. This was neither of those things, a torment that could have only served as a hell.

Was that where we were, I wonder now? A hell? Were we once a part of something better, a world that began not in tears, but in glory? Were we banished? Did we earn this? I certainly earned it, later.

It matters little, now. Very few things matter, now.

Keep listening, Lassen. It only matters that you keep listening.

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

On the legs of a legion of the dead, the Gravelord stalked his namesake. One hand drug his blade, forged from the bones of heroes. The other lifted aloft his Soul, to see. The reaper had awoken, and sensed the souls of those who could not perish. They were near.

It had never come to pass, that the Darksigned undead could creep into his resting place. Nito, the Lord of Law and Death, was curious. Even as he hated those that fell not to his source of power, proximity demanded caution.

There- twin pools of blood, bubbling. Each, three feet in diameter, with nary a body to be seen save the scattered bones of the long-deceased. Strange, indeed. This, and the pull of the Flame above.

Nito replaced his Soul securely within his robes, and reached out.

One hand brushed the phantasmal blood of the first pool, and realized it held no substance. It was merely red smoke, staining naught.

A cattish prod, with a single finger. Through the floor it went, as if that same pool had eaten away at the surface.

Reaching back, myriad pairs of eyeless sockets examined the many-jointed finger. No- it was still intact.

Like a tidal wave, Nito reached for the pool a third time. He reached in, grasped, and **pulled.**

~͞͏͘͞~̵̢~̵̛͘̕͢~̨͝~҉̢~̡͜͞~̸̴̢̧~̷̧͘͘͡~̢͟~̨̕~̕͝͏҉͝~̴̕͜͝͠~̀͘͜~̴̡͢͢~͢͏̨͝҉~̡͘~̴̸~̡̨́̕͡~̶̡̛~̢̢̡͘~͏̨͘͝~̧̛͟͠͞~͘͠~͜͠~̡̧̧͞͞~̡͞~̸͏̴͜~̢̛͝~̡͟͡͝~̡͝͞҉

There was a fifth, in the Abyss.

The Four Kings knew it, though they could not see it.

Darkness knew darkness.

Hunger knew hunger.

They knew each others' minds, even as they felt each others' presence.

The New Darkness could feel the Kings' desire, to consume that fateful Heat above. The Kings could feel the Darkness's desire to reduce all around it to shattered memories and despair.

The could **respect** one another.

Selfishness and Evil were one and the same. What did it matter the term you used, attributed to whom?

The Kings of New Londo raised their swords.

The New Darkness joined them.


	14. Act 2 Finale (Pt 2 FINAL)

I remember my father, speaking with the worst of them.

The four-winged stone dragon conversed with a man much like yourself, with no weapon and no armor- Flann. I know not of what they agreed, but there was an understanding, between them. Flann desired power. The Dragons desired something only power could give.

To begin, Flann accepted a gift of souls from the strongest of them- a gift made of the lives taken from all the dragon's prey.

You see, Flann's power, like ours, was based around belief- and the fact that we could not truly die. Death was a passing inconvenience, to us, but without those who would pray to us we were no stronger than a mortal man. Less so, even- what meager strength we had taken with us from wherever we'd come was all we had, and such power was running thin. Without any power at all, we would be doomed to die again and again until someone found purpose for us- and believed in us.

But a soul was well within Flann's power to shape, and he had a plan. A soul is the basis of all life, and sentience. A soul is power, force. With a soul, any soul, Flann could **create**.

What was one Dragon's betrayal became thousands' defeat, for with that power Flann created a flame; the literal element of life, with a light so bright that it lit the entire world. In one instant, the prey that huddled below could see; and they saw their tormentors, the stone Dragons.

Hate is a powerful thing, Lassen. As is Betrayal. As is Vengeance. Remember that, Lassen- it seems to be a running theme.

The first war would be fought in the First Dawn, under the newborn sun.

There was scarce chance, to succeed- the bipedal mortals were never a match for the Dragons, in the darkness. The gift of Sight was not so large a one that it could guarantee victory. Not even the light-blinded reptiles were morally broken, continuing their hunt with scent and sound. Knowing who their old adversaries were, now, some of the Prey decided it was far better to ally themselves with the Predators and seek out their own power.

But that didn't stop the rest from fighting back as best they could. The Humans, who learned quickly; discovered the idea of hiding places, of using their diminutive size to their advantage. They invented the act of self-sacrifice, giving their souls to others who were stronger.

They discovered what it was, to die. To feel no more, rather than suffering in endless torment from a body that would not heal. With the birth of the Flame, pain finally had an end. Peace.

Nito was the harbinger of all this; embraced the aspect of Death as wholly as one could live or breathe. Nito, the Gravelord, first of the Dead- he perished, returned through sheer willpower and delight, and spoke of dying to his fellow Man. He was the first, to find a Soul within the fire- the soul of Law, a metaphor for the rules that all true Life had to follow to be considered living. In fire, Law was the fuel itself. With it, he became the first Firekeeper- gaining control over death. Nito could raise the dead even as they fell, and have them continue the battle- raising an infinite army of warriors to suffer the worst of their foes.

Peace after death gave hope back then, Lassen. It had never happened before, and the humans became fearless. Not even Nito's strange new power caused despair, for his servants were but animated bones and meat.

The second of the Prey were the Giants. They were might incarnate; growing larger, stronger, with every soul bequeathed to them. The humans began the battles, and when they perished, the newly-mighty Giants swelled in size until they could wrestle with their enemy. It was the sure-handed Giants that learned to work metal in fire- stack stone into fortresses, walls, ceilings. They toiled endlessly, outfitting themselves and their allies with the metal bark of the Archtrees so that death was less likely against their primordial foe.

Following Nito's example, their leader became the second Keeper of the First Flame- Gwyn, the Lord of Cinder. His was the soul of Light, taken from the fire. In it was the power of heat and safety, a selfless power that could strike out as easily as it could protect.

The third was never prey at all- born from the Flame that heralded a new Birth, their lives would last as long as the fire did. The Witches of the Flame, they were called- first one, then others, later. It was they that mastered the idea of using fire as a weapon itself, a tool beyond forging. They found a means of creating vessels for the Flame, spreading its' light throughout the world so that no matter where warriors found themselves doing battle against the serpents, they would never need to fight in the dark again.

The First Witch, Izal, became the third Firekeeper. Keeping the Soul of Chaos, Izal took up the mantle of Change. Life was a constant state of alteration, whether by free will, growth, healing or injury. This was characterized by the fire, which remade all it touched. With the Soul of Chaos, Izal and her daughters learned of Healing- of ruling change to benefit others, and extend lifespans beyond the norm.

The last were purity itself; created by the Dragons as a better, softer prey, their very bodies were composed of spectral energy given flesh. It was they that learned command over Souls, their lifeblood, and once rescued they passed on this knowledge to the Humans- their saviors. While they could not join the conflict due to their frail nature, the Oolacilians (as they would be called, later) created the basis of magic and its many uses- and the humans learned how to weaponize it.

The Oolacilians rejected the idea of taking a soul from the flame. Souls were all they were, and fear of what may happen swayed their hand from the power they stood to gain. Still, they served their worth by growing food and morale; ensuring that others stronger than they could go on fighting.

Still others hunted the defectors with shadows, and blades; those that had banded with the Dragons, against the rebellion.

It was a union, Lassen. One that Lordran would never see again, battling the worst of unbeatable monsters. It did not stop them from trying; with the Fire, they had Hope. With each other, they had support.

But even banded together, they had no chance at all, Lassen. The Dragons were immortal.

Emphasis, of course, on 'were'.

If my sister had not intervened, I've no doubt the war would still be raging today.

Fina, dear Lassen, would see an end to the endless bloodshed- for she had found something.

A Dragon, corrupted. Rather than wrapped in the stone scales of his kin, he was bare- mere flesh and bone, exposed to the elements that now swept through all of Lordran. A throwback, to times long before; an outcast of his own kind, for his weakness. His name was Seath, the toad of his betters, and slowly changing in the warmth of the First Flame and its Firekeepers.

It was Fina who lended him an ear, and lips; she found beauty in him, despite what he was becoming. Perfection, in the gorgeous skin of what the Dragons once were. Needless to say, she was entranced and distraught, by what the beings had been and become. Seath the Scaleless spoke of the Dragons, and Fina listened- much like you and I, Lassen.

Much like you, and I.

The Dragons had once been mortal. They had found something- a crystal, from the world they had come. En route to Lordran, our world, they brought it with them- and it sustained them, linked somehow with the stone scales they wore. It prevented the change that the Fires brought- withheld their flesh from Flann's power. So long as that crystal remained attuned to their bodies, the Dragons were inviolate and unchanging, as timeless as the gem itself.

Seath had been refused the act of taking up the scales, though he spoke not of why to either I nor Fina- but neither did he begrudge the others his refusal. Not, at least, until Fina convinced him to betray his brothers.

I will spare you the specific details of how, Lassen, as 'tis neither part of my story nor palatable to my taste. Suffice it to say that the result, Fina's daughter, may have been a catalyst in the events to come centuries later.

Fina instilled in Seath a yearning for perfection, her fateful beauty leading him to abandon kinship in favor of personal gain- namely, that of Fina and his own continued survival to enjoy her company. Dragon or no, Fina **was** perfect, Lassen- and Seath made good on his word.

Joining the rebellion, it was Seath that retold the story of the Crystal- and a plan was hatched, the crystal stolen, Seath taking it for himself as both war trophy and birthright.

Without the Primordial Crystal, the Dragons were still ageless- but they could be slain.

Without the Primordial Crystal, Nito could see where the Dragons were weakest and expose them.

Without the Primordial Crystal, Izal could loose Chaos upon them, warping their bodies into cruel mockeries of their former glory.

Without the Primordial Crystal, Gwyn could burn their corrupted bodies to ashes, leaving only the skeletons of their foes behind.

And if you'll remember, Lassen, Nito could raise the dead.

It was not long before the devolved dragonkin fought their own, alongside an impossible army. It was this, the final straw, that caused the dragons to turn and flee- resorting to harrying attacks, then hiding altogether as it became clear that none could stop the new force that sacrificed everything in the name of survival.

No longer were the Dragons apex predators- and the First of them, the four-winged dragon whom Flann had duped, retreated into his own place of solace to wait, rather than fight a foregone conclusion. Remember that, Lassen. It is very important you remember this dragon specifically. None of us knew it- but this beast was our failure.

This beast, and his servants- for he had two, that showed much promise. One was a number of dragons that had been afflicted by the Chaos, and merged together into a hydra of nightmarish appearance, with the schizophrenic affliction only multiple eternal minds could bring. The other was a mere human- one that refused the power of stone scales, in lieu of safety from the Oolacilian assassins.

The first was ordered to hide, as well, and seek out a means of expediting a return to darkness- an end to the uprising of prey.

The second, to claim the remaining soul of the First Flame, and to hide it from the mortals within a pendant that could not be found by any means. He became the Fourth Firekeeper, though he held not the soul- the Soul of Darkness, representing fire's selfish consumption of all fuel near it- desire, hate, and the cold it left behind.

We never knew this, then- nor did we, in our revelry of success, remember the greatest of the Dragons. His machinations proved to be our downfall.

Time went on, and the Dragons were all but expunged- Seath was granted a place within the world. The Giants constructed a home, Anor Londo. The humans spread wide, and created kingdoms for themselves. The Oolacilians nestled amongst the newly-growing trees, to bring beauty to Lordran. The Witches burrowed deep into the earth, to be closer to the molten core of the world and bask in its heat.

And we, the three Deities, watched over them all. My father, Flann, teaching the three known Firekeepers how to tend to the Flame and encourage its well-being. My sister, Fina, to delight mortals and teach them how to survive. Myself, to watch them and root out those who spoiled the land with unneeded blood and endangered others, or threatened the three Firekeepers. If any of those who held the Flame's souls perished, the fire itself would eventually die altogether- dwindling, as its life faded.

I had the heaviest burden, and the hardest; and I failed, Lassen.

I failed, so horribly, and never knew it until now.

The welded Serpent had discovered the Firekeepers' secret, and what held the Flame alight. Gwyn was too trusting, too open. While the Everlasting Dragon's minion could not hope to survive a battle with one of them, there was another option- the soul that had been squirreled away and hidden by the Fourth.

Gwyn was easy to interrogate.

The Oolacilians were easy to fool.

Speaking of further things hidden within Lordran, the Serpentine once-dragon encouraged the Oolacilians to dig under the guise it had assumed of Gwyn's ally, and dig they did- straight down into the earth, the hiding place of the last Firekeeper. Manus.

Manus wanted to survive- it had been his whole reason for banding with the Everlasting Dragon in the first place. In their archaeological search, the Oolacilians simultaniously roused him- and shattered his pendant. The Dark Soul- the Selfish Flame- it consumed Manus utterly, feeding from his survival instincts and creating a hellish demon from the dragonblessed pygmy. All of Oolacile was destroyed, one mere handful of days before someone- an unknown warrior, to anyone- slew him, and vanished with the Dark Soul splintered into a thousand pieces upon Manus's death.

This was the beginning of the end, Lassen.

I can tell you how every event occurred, piece by sordid piece.

I know every failing we had, down to the second it mattered.

The Serpent, and by extension the Dragon, had ended us, and we knew it- even if we knew not by whose hand.

We blamed each other. Flann went into a rage, as he felt the fires weaken- demanded answers as to why the Firekeepers had failed in their duty. Gwyn claimed innocence, as did Nito and Izal, demanding to know why Flann, Fina and I had abandoned them. It began with anger, between us- and escalated quickly into transgressions. We were blinded, and in the end our survival came down to humanity.

I am certain the events of New Londo did not help matters. None of us understood what had caused the horrors, there...

It began when Flann left us- speaking of making the ending years as peaceful as possible for all of us. In retaliation, Gwyn took Flann's Way of White, usurping his believers into believing Gwyn was the god of fire- hoping that, eventually, Flann's life force would drain to the point where he would be desperate to return and make another Flame. One or two generations of humans would ensure none were the wiser.

Then Fina, still bearing Seath's child, spoke to Gwyn's firstborn- turned him against his father, speaking of what had occurred between them- Gwyn's firstborn confronted the Lord of Cinder (the Lord of Sunlight, then), and was banished for it- made to walk as a mortal man, until he returned with Fire.

It might have been the end of it, then- but Lord Gwyn's terror and rage had no bounds, towards us. Fina gave birth- birth, to a daughter. A crossbreed, of Deity and Dragon. She still lived in Anor Londo, then, and the news did not have to go far to reach the Lord's ears- rather than accepting that the child might have been good, his old hate against the Dragons took the better of him.

A prison was created- an oubliette, where such things could be forgotten. Though Gwyn did not have the heart to slay a child, he could indeed seal her away forever- and ensure against another race's uprising. It was the final straw, for Fina, and she joined our father in Carim.

I had yet to begin to fight, watching all of this through the eyes of my crows- creatures I created, to tally the Sins of mortals. I confronted them all, Lassen, wielding my rapier- a blade created solely for me by Gwyn himself- I intended to harm no one, you know. Intended to, at least.

Despite all our growing hatreds for one another, I never desired bloodshed. This much- this was an accident. I was to be imposing- not lethal.

Back and forth, we bickered, till I drew my rapier and made ultimatum. It was then, that Gwyndolin- Gwyn's third child- saw me as a threat, and came between us. I did not have time to think- cutting him... or her, seeing as how Gwyn had raised him as a daughter for whatever odd lunar reason... down where he stood.

He survived, Lassen- his father's blood was enough to give him life until Seath could restore him as best he was able- but he would be marred forevermore since, Seath fusing Gwyndolin with the lower body of snakes. And I had lost, then.

My intention had been to browbeat a treaty, in the interest of undoing what had come between us. Instead, I had harmed one who sought only to protect his father. I did not resist, as Gwyn ushered me out- and there was nothing I could do, as my Assassins were taken from me.

Gwyndolin, once recovered, ensured I could do no more harm to any of them- he took my Blades, my Darkmoon Blades, naming himself their new god. With his too-true propaganda of my violence, how could I stop him?

But I could feel rage, Lassen.

No one could stop me from feeling rage.

Rage, as the dying flame began to infect the living with the accursed Darksign. Falling apart, the Flame could no longer gift true life to those that walked the world- more and more people began to revert to the old life, in the time of Dragons.

Rage, when Gwyn began to lose hope- offering his secondborn daughter as wife to my father, believing that Flann only required a gift in order to create another Flame. He was wrong- it was not out of unwillingness that Flann refused, it was because to do such a thing would have require the entire populace's worth of souls. Humans, Giants- all of them.

Rage, when Fina fell into Torpor- a Gods' death, and it was unclear when she would awaken. Fina had only ever wanted the best, for everyone- perfection, only achieved through love. She **was** perfect, and they had killed her with sorrow. The infighting, the violence, the skulduggery and the loss of her daughter had destroyed her heart and sapped her strength.

Rage, when Nito and Seath turned upon one another, as the latter was trying to achieve the immortality of his kin- then again, when Nito and Gwyn were at each others' throats for allowing Seath's dark experiments to continue, in the name of progress. A third time, when Gwyn and Seath railed at one another at Nito's urging. In one swift instant, three of the four minds that had ended the Dragons were no longer together.

Rage, when the fourth mind, Izal, doomed herself at Gwyn's urging- using her elemental nature, the Witch tried to turn her own soul into another Flame- and failed, destroying herself and and most of her daughters. They became hellish demons, and the Soul of Chaos now lied in the hands of an aberration.

Rage, when Gwyn tried much the same within the Kiln- the prophetical place where it all began, the birthplace of the Flame. He sealed the door at the Serpent's urging, with both souls and steel. A door that only opened and could be safely crossed if one held a vessel that contained souls equal in power to Gwyn's Flame of Light. Not even I knew at the time, but the Serpent had placed the final ace.

Only the four souls combined could kindle the flame- and a barrier that could only be crossed by leaving one or more behind was not to ensure that only one of power could breach the Kiln, as Gwyn thought, but that the Flame could never be linked with its' fuel. It was a key that was designed to break off in the lock; the moment any set foot in the Kiln, failure was already assured- regardless of what happened within.

Remember that, too, Prince Lassen.

Gwyn tried so hard- gave his own soul, not merely the Soul of Light, to fuel the fire. I can forgive him now, but so blinded I was then, the idiocy only made me hate him more. It did much, then. One thousand years of hope, but nothing permanent; not as it should have been. Gwyn might as well have perished- his mind was no more.

Nito went to sleep, for good. He wanted no part of a world that welcomed back unlife, those that could not- or would not- die. I and my kin were above this, as it had been our doing that gifted them with death, but Seath and the Darksigned were too much for his morals. Another, gone.

Seath began deeper research- stealing any essence of purity he could find in the mortal races, to strengthen the purloined Crystal. His solitude and experiments earned him fear, and the idea that he had gone insane- but one way or another, the Duke Seath never left his libraries. A fourth, vanished, with a gifted portion of Gwyn's flame.

Izal, as previously stated, had been the first to go- with all four of the Alliance gone, what could I do, but rage and wander? Anger is a terrible thing- and I was so, so angry. Angry at myself, for only succeeding in escalating matters. Angry at everyone else, for not understanding. The world of Lordran was falling to pieces, and there was naught I could do but know I had to escape somehow. Escape, with hopefully my father, and the body of my dear sister. What I found in the old ruins of my temple in Lordran, though- it took my breath away.

I'd found a soapstone, Lassen. A large one- a disc, hidden away within a chest that had never been there before.

Needless to say, I used it- and my mind was struck dumb.

Can you imagine seeing a timeline, shattered? I can still hardly imagine it now, despite seeing it myself.

Lordran was not a single timeline, but billions, expanding in an explosion and fractured at one side like a bound cat-o'-nine-tails. The beginning of each line was the same; welded together into a single strand, like the bodies of a hydra- but as it went farther on, they splintered- each pinwheeling off into a different, insane direction.

This is **our** past, Lassen. Are you listening?

Lordran had saved us as best it could.

Some unknown event had shattered the world from its' future; precisely in the center, preventing either side from extending beyond a certain point. Whenever time in a specific line reached the end of our past, it began again down a new thread- sometimes down the same one, at random.

Every timeline was distinct. Different. Not in all ways, but every split began with the same event.

A birth, Lassen. Lordran had split during a birth, and it was that child that caused the alterations. I could scarcely believe it- the arrival of a single new soul to Lordran was, somehow, enough to cause the massive flux and separate the Lines. In each line, the individual was different- sometimes male. Sometimes female. Sometimes from Catarina, or Vinheim, or Carim.

Somehow, one child in all of Lordran had the ability to change the outcome of the future- **our** time, Lassen. They could change this desolate world into something beautiful, if they could only discover how.

Again and again I watched these strange 'Chosen' battle from one side of Lordran to another, filling the Vessel and entering the Kiln. I saw both outcomes, mere moments before each timeline ended and began again at that specific notch in the weave. Always, one of two things marked the end of the Timeline.

No matter what the Chosen decided- whether they took Gwyn's place at the flame, or let it die- the moment they filled the Vessel, doom was impossible to escape, and the timeline began again. The four fires of life could not be in two places at once, Lassen.

I knew I would learn nothing, with the timelines such a chaotic mess, but I **had** to learn.

It did not take me long, to make a course of action. My new state of being, with the soapstone, was both metaphysical and literal. I could move the timelines themselves, and so I did- ordered them into a line, where I could go through each one at a time. Now crows could serve as my eyes in the World between Worlds, Lassen- this red-misted place would need to be navigated by myself alone.

My search was endless. I scoured the lines, searching in vain for a means to bypass the Vessel- or to prevent the death of Manus, until Flann could reclaim the Dark Soul. I searched for eons, Lassen. Eons of using what little power I could steal from each world's believers of other Velkas, to the point where to track my action meant driving a cartographer mad. Eons of staring into the same events, over and over. I never tired, for there was naught else to do- I never needed to sleep, and I always had hope.

Then Manus spoke, to me. Somehow, some way, the Pygmy had found me- and followed. He spoke of the Dark Soul gifting him clarity- a dead lie, I know that now. Life was not about understanding, it was about survival. I would have even known this before, if it were not what he offered me.

Information, and the Dark Soul. The Stolen flame.

He spoke of using the timelines as resources, not as mere knowledge. Taking the flames, or souls, from one world and transferring them to the next. The Vessel did not require specific souls, after all- that was the Kiln. The Vessel only required an equal power to the flame of Warmth. Gwyn's Soul. With the full, unsplintered Dark Soul taken from Manus in one world, and Gwyn's diminished soul from another, I would render one timeline dead- but mend the others into a Perfect Lordran. All of them, if I were to use my disc to bind them together once more into a whole.

If I'd had my wits, I'd not have been so rash. I never understood what powers were arrayed against me, how many plans hinged upon my next deeds. I would have considered, watched carefully, weighed my options- but so taken by hope I was, that all caution meant nothing.

I shattered my disc, Lassen, and entered the world- only to promptly perish, as fate forced me into Torpor.

It was my fault- being a daughter of Flann, the Dark Soul recognized me as fuel. I had thought the soul I had stolen from another timeline, to sustain it as a Firekeeper would be enough. I was wrong. It had been consuming all the power I had left, the moment I took it up. The selfish flame cared not for what it ate, so long as it did- and it consumed everything within me, even while it gnawed upon Gwyn's battered energy.

I perished, and I never saw the Chosen's face, never able to tell the undead human how to mend the world for good. I never had the chance.

~̷̛~͘̕͞~̴̡̨̛͠~̷̀~̴҉̢́́~̨͘͢͠~̡͟~̸̸͘͞~͠͏͠~͡͞~̶҉̨̕͡~͜͏͏~̸̧̛͝~̶̴͟͝~̛͘~̴̧̛~͏~̴̡͢͢͡~͠҉̸̨̡~̵̨͘͜͞~̡̢̀̕͞~̨͟͏~͞҉̶~̸̛~͘҉~̶̵́̕~̴̀͠͞~̸͢~̵̢̨̀~͏͢҉~̷̛~͘̕͞~̴̡̨̛͠~̷̀~̴҉̢́́~̨͘͢͠~̡͟~̸̸͘͞~͠͏͠~͡͞~̶҉̨̕͡~͜͏͏~̸̧̛͝~̶̴͟͝~̛͘~̴̧̛~͏~̴̡͢͢͡~͠҉̸̨̡~̵̨͘͜͞~̡̢̀̕͞~̨͟͏~͞҉̶~̸̛~͘҉~̶̵́̕~̴̀͠͞~̸͢~̵̢̨̀~͏͢҉

"_Ma- Velka. How is any of this **your** fault? From what you say, we were doomed from the beginning- all this is... you were only trying to **save** us. How can you fault yourself? If we're all going to die- which I very much do believe- should we not do so with peace?"_

"_I do no' deserve peace, Prince Lassen. Y' 'ave no' 'eard zhe second tale. Zhe vun zhat zhe demon inside m' screams vis glee, even now. It knows I am broken- and it revels in it. Zhis is zhe ozher truth, Prince Lassen."_

Velka sat, then. Her control was fading- but the least she could do, now, was confess. Confess, and be hated for it by the very people she failed to protect.

~̷̛~͘̕͞~̴̡̨̛͠~̷̀~̴҉̢́́~̨͘͢͠~̡͟~̸̸͘͞~͠͏͠~͡͞~̶҉̨̕͡~͜͏͏~̸̧̛͝~̶̴͟͝~̛͘~̴̧̛~͏~̴̡͢͢͡~͠҉̸̨̡~̵̨͘͜͞~̡̢̀̕͞~̨͟͏~͞҉̶~̸̛~͘҉~̶̵́̕~̴̀͠͞~̸͢~̵̢̨̀~͏͢҉~̷̛~͘̕͞~̴̡̨̛͠~̷̀~̴҉̢́́~̨͘͢͠~̡͟~̸̸͘͞~͠͏͠~͡͞~̶҉̨̕͡~͜͏͏~̸̧̛͝~̶̴͟͝~̛͘~̴̧̛~͏~̴̡͢͢͡~͠҉̸̨̡~̵̨͘͜͞~̡̢̀̕͞~̨͟͏~͞҉̶~̸̛~͘҉~̶̵́̕~̴̀͠͞~̸͢~̵̢̨̀~͏͢҉

Manus was not the true threat. I- We- let the true mastermind escape some time ago, and I hinted at it earlier. Do you remember, Lassen?

The disc- the Black Planestone- had belonged to the Eternal Dragon. The duped one, the one who had supplied Flann unwittingly. The four-winged ruler of all dragonkin. Manus was a mere patsy- the chaos-corrupted multi-headed Serpent, a henchman.

While Manus hid with the stolen Soul, the Serpent orchestrated a resurrection of dragonkind. That much, I know now- not before the previous story. I did not understand the significance of 'Kingseeker' Frampt and 'Darkstalker' Kaathe, two heads of the same draconic hydra. One head ingratiated itself with the first Firekeepers, and 'guided' the Chosen into the Vessel's trap. The other enticed humanity, and served as a second 'guide', should Frampt fail to mislead the strange human.

While Frampt schemed, Kaathe gathered- used power-hungry humans to gather souls, and shards of the Dark Soul. In exchange, they were gifted dark powers- and the shards were given to the Dragon, to restore some of what he had lost in the First Lie.

The Dragon was not inactive, either, Lassen. He had his own plan to enact- for Dragons were not born, they were **made.** The Everlasting Dragon's mind was as freed from the real as mine was, for the Disc had initially belonged to him- the second artifact they had brought with them from their original world. Those that were tempted not by the Dark Soul's strength would assuredly fall to the 'honorable' and 'glorious' form of the dragon- something promised to them, should they supply their benefactor with the stone scales of fallen kin.

While I frantically searched the worlds for the solution to the Vessel, the Everlasting Dragon was becoming drunk on thousands of worlds' worth of Dark Soul shards, strengthening his skin with scavenged scales and creating a new army of Dragonkin. No timeline's binding constrained his search; every moment before I took up the Disc, that same artifact was in **his** hands. The whole time, that Dragon was matching me move for move. The whole time- and I, Velka the Crow, Velka of the Many Eyes, never saw it.

Once the Dragon had enough, all it took was a word from the dawn of our timeline; and Manus **made a fool** of me. I broke the disc, under the ruse of a plan- but in reality, it was the Dragon's will that I did so. Had I not been consumed by the Soul, the Dragon would certainly have consumed me instead- it was growing stronger, as I only diminished. The worlds came together, and time stopped recycling- leaving the Dragon to rule this dying world.

The Dragon **still** rules it, Lassen. The Dragon is the Old One, writhing in Ash Lake. I can only conclude that our Champion failed to use the duplicated Souls to solve the Vessel's dilemma. Perhaps the Serpent made a fool of the Chosen, as it had all others- I'll never know the details. I only know that the Dragon has the Dark Soul several hundred times over, by now- as well as the souls of Chaos and Law, as he retrieved them from the Vessel.

Used as a weapon, the Soul of Chaos infects others with forceful change. The Soul of Law grants its wielder the power to resurrect the dead. The Soul of Selfishness inflicts a hunger so deep and intense that it can never be filled.

We face several lands' worth of unkillable cannibals, warped far beyond imagination, ruled by an immortal creature that holds the only weapon we could use to slay it, Lassen. All because I never had a mind to hunt down the Everlasting Dragon- the one who fled rebellion. All because I did not fulfill the task given to me by my birthright- to hunt down those that threatened others' lives.

All because of me.

I am Velka, the greatest sinner of them all.


	15. Act 2 Author's Corner

It's that time again...

**ACT 2 AUTHOR'S CORNER**

_So a few interesting things, this update- I haven't been inactive, as you might expect. In reality, I had a few tough decisions to make, regarding this story- namely, what I wanted the overall backstory to be. As you probably noticed, there was a little... **ahem** 'disparity' between Pages 1-3 and Pages 13-14 (yes, pages, as 'chapters' are how I'm dividing Acts). 1-3 was my **initial** plan, before I started researching everything- and I'll tell you what, once you've read the description of every single item in the game and gone freeroaming in Lordran after reading **every** line of dialogue ever and watching all the cutscenes, you start to really rethink things- and a whole lot of things start making a weird sort of sense._

_See, here's the thing- Fromsoft is a hell of a game company. Armored Core, the Souls Series, really any big-name game they've made alone has one telling aspect; they don't throw the story in your face. The story is just **there**, waiting to be found- not given to you. Its up to you to connect the dots, not them- Fromsoft is a drunken uncle who starts off in the middle of the story and tells you to go bother someone else if you want answers._

_But they don't put things in games, without reason. I will stand by the firm idea that **nothing **in the game is mere fluff- some things are lost in translation, some things are merely game mechanics, and some things are just easter eggs- but there is no real fluff, fluff being a pointless object or item or enemy that only serves to pad out the game._

_It was this mindset, and my findings (Tyvm VaatiVidya and EpicNameBro for getting my attention focused on a few matters, however indirectly) that spawned pages 13-14. If you are an **avid** lore-fan of Dark Souls and want to know how I arrived at a specific conclusion, feel free to ask via PM or Review- nestled within the backstory is what I believe really happened, and I won't make a change that proof goes entirely against._

_In light of this, I've made some pretty significant changes to the first three chapters (and fixed Lassen's name in 'The Prince'), the details of which will be included here._

_-Removed the Ultima Sephiroth sidestory- it wasn't going over well according to reviews (yes, reviews matter, so get on it!), and after all the chenges I made... suffice it to say I've got enough going on already, and a better way of filling his purpose._

_-Changed the conversation between Velka/Manus and the events Outside Lordran's Timelines by about 50%, to match up with pages 13-14._

_Nothing else was changed, so you can be forgiven for not wanting to read it all- those of you who've already gotten through 13-14 can fairly safely ignore the modifications and simply take Velka's word as law for history- there will be more things, of course, revealed later- but for now, its fine._

_On to review answers!_

Holsch 5/24/13 . chapter 8

Soldier on, buddy. My only complaint so far is the name Ultima Sephiroth is very dramatic and a bit typical, but it then, I think), it turned out he's going to be a disembodied voice/reluctant advisor (if the trope fits) trapped in the Old Pendant. Cool.

7:06: _Sephy's no longer a part of this story. I should have made the decision when I had the nagging suspicion that his basis was way too meta for my tastes- but what can you do? Change the focus, and do better- and I think the story's better off without him._

TheSeventhOfSix 5/24/13 . chapter 7

Responding here since its a ways until the next auth corner: Ultima Sephoroth's stupidly ominous name was chosen for a reason, and has reasoning behind it. The clue is in chapter two of act 1! And he isn't a narrator- he's a character. Mwahaha...

7:06: _If you knew then what I know now... I mean, if I knew then what you- ...wait. What?_

Guest 6/6/13 . chapter 13

I don't know where the F#%K the story is going, but I like it!

7:06: _Dear Nameless-Guest-who-I-shall-call-Gus, I am glad you enjoy! Stay tuned to this channel for a minor plot synopsis in order to curb the confusion!_

ShadedRogue 6/13/13 . chapter 1

I don't really know anything about this fandom or the cycle of the worlds, but I find that you did a really great job of explaining the worlds and Velka's and Manus' purpose in the prologue that even someone who knows nothing about the fandom can have some idea about what's going on. I also liked that the explanation is woven into the narrative, rather than represented as a forced-down-your-throat explanation. It works very well with the story.

The prologue is very interesting. You present to the readers two very important characters who work behind the cosmic scenes of repetitive cycles of multiple worlds. I don't really understand the Chosen Undead at that point, but I think their purpose and implication is clear enough. Manus seems like an interesting character, whose purpose seems to be to doom the worlds to their fate, perhaps not entirely by his own will, but who also seems genuinely concerned about how the fate of the worlds plays out.

I really love your narrative. Your writing flows extremely well; it's clear and concise, yet it also has some really great descriptions without being too overpowering. The dialogue plays well off itself, and you can visibly read the personality difference between the two characters in the way they speak and interact with each other.  
Overall, very good start.

7:06: _It staggers me that two people have reviewed so far that know nothing about the fandom, both of whom have only gotten through the first chapter. o.O; Don't people only read fanfiction of content they're familiar with? I used to think so. Regardless, hopefully 13-14 clears some things up for you! Part of Velka's little meltdown was meant to be a means of getting those who weren't familiar with the lore caught up 3. Very much glad you enjoy it. ^_^_

ParagonEmil 6/15/13 . chapter 14

Oh... My... Goddess... This must be the greatest chapter in history of FanFiction. You sir/madam, has created an alternate dimension in Dark Souls lore. Velka has been given a personality beyond my imagination. You split lore pieces into new lines, creating branching thoughts I never imagined I would visit. My own words cannot describe how great this is. Your story in general, I mostly thought "meh, good enough". But this chapter has given birth to so much fantastic content. And you wrapped it up greatly with: "I am Velka, the greatest sinner of them all."

7:06: #O.O# _...G-...Greatest? I... uh... er... You are doing NOTHING to release my overinflated ego, good sir! I can't help but think this is hyperbole (there are thousands of better authors than me in , srsly, I should probably plug them in future Auth Corners), but these kind words certainly motivate me to live up to them. If Lore is what you want, then Lore you shall have- when the opportunity arises for me to explain, then I shall do so. Tyvm for sticking with me this long!_

Holt 6/17/13 . chapter 14

What the fuck did i just read?! At first it was fairly confusing, then it became more confusing, then a whole shit ton more confusing and THEN you added Zelda to it! I had no idea what was happening and the weird voice/accent of the demon possesed Velka (i dont know how or why this happened!), prince Lassen and whatnot. Lets just say i am really confused to sum it up...

Anyway, apart from the confusion, i think this is an excellent story (even though whole worlds are separated by a few words and joined as at the same time, like with Zelda being added) and you have really outdone yourself, its a great read, almost zero errors throughout the whole thing and THANK YOU FOR WRITING YET ANOTHER ENTERTAINING READ! :D

7:06: _So glad you're enjoying it, despite your confusion. ^_^ ...Just as an FYI, the 'Maiden in Black/Prince Lassen' conversations in the Nexus are not necessarily happening at the same time as the rest of the story- in fact, those are taking place way into the future, in the events of Demon's Souls, another Fromsoft game that I heartily recommend. While my edits to previous chapters in the prologue might de-fog the confusion for you a little, I'll go ahead and give you a little timeline snippet to go by, in the order of what's going on, sort of._

(Way Before Dark Souls) 1: Velka's Story Events in Chapters 13-14 (not actually happening, just being spoken of. There will be occasional flashbacks to what's going on here, and how each area/person Helene goes through/meets is significant)

(Now) 2: Dark Souls (Helene's start, most other story sections)

(A Little After Dark Souls) 3: (UNKNOWN, to be revealed much later)

(WAY After Dark Souls) 4: Demon's Souls (Velka, as the Maiden in Black, has her little breakdown and talks to Lassen about what's going on in her story)

Holsch 6/19/13 . chapter 14

Wow. Wow, wow, wow. So many Demon's-Dark Souls connections I had never even considered before, and that's an area of the series I'm particularly interested in. Really, this is inspired. And beautifully written. The montages in Pt1 are genuinely breathtaking, and more than a few passages of Pt 2 left me quite awestruck, most of all the falling out of the Lord Souls and the ending. ("The Dragon is the Old One, writhing in Ash Lake" - chills.) All the while carried by empathetic characterization of Flann and Finn, the four of the Souls, and of course, Velka.

And before that came the great introduction of Big Hat Logan to the story, and the soon-after big twist. I'm not sure how to take that, but you move between character perspectives and handle accompanying would-be pacing issues so deftly that I, once again, feel assured this'll all build to something excellent. So yeah, Zelda. Honestly can't wait to see what that's all about.

_7:06: Inspired? Oh yes. Inspired by VaatiVidya, EpicNameBro, Fromsoft, the authors of , several other games, incredible music, etc etc etc. I could go on all day about the things that inspired me to write this story, but truth be told I'd rather get back to writing the thing. ^_^ As far as your glowing words go- are you sure you're talking about me? XD I'm scatterbrained, dense, a procrastinator and bound to bouts of ADCD- you CAN'T be talking about me. On the off-chance you ARE, though... thank you. So much. Rest assured, Zelda's appearance isn't going to go unexplained- and there's actually a pseudo-scientific (read: Doctor Who-esque) reason as to why, to be explained in chapters to come. As far as pacing goes- I find that pacing is actually **much** easier to handle when you've got more than one group you're focusing on. When you've got one group that's sort of stagnating, switch on to the next- then back again, once everyone's caught up. If necessary, time-skip a little in the pagebreaks- nine times out of ten, people get the picture, even if you aren't terribly obvious about which characters you switched to. If you're able to give enough personality to each character, people start to instinctively recognize them._

Thank you for the words of encouragement, people- I really, really appreciate your reviews. Yes, I'm a bit of an attention whore- and the bubbly warmth of words gives me comfort and determination. Criticism, complaints, I welcome them as well- don't be afraid to speak your mind. As with the write-out of Sephy, I **pay attention**, so speak up!

But now the Prologue is finished- the Tale begins here, with Helene and Oscar venturing into the Undead Burg. Faces both new and old shall be seen, and battles old indeed shall be ended for good or ill.

Will you join me?


	16. 1: Calm Before

The Undead Burg. It wasn't always called that, of course- but no other name could be known.

Light shone from above, over this destroyed quarter of empty homes and barren streets. A cruel lie, this dead city bathing in warm sunlight. As if dawn ever came to a battlefield; and a battlefield it was. Several times, Helene and Oscar ran afoul of wandering undead soldiers in the streets. Some were the Knights of Balder that had come here, long ago- for what reason, none knew. Others were of an unknown allegiance; hollowed dead in ragged armor, some with merely broken shields and helmets. Others had been evidently commoners; clad only in rags, with whatever poor weaponry they could scrounge.

Battle had raged, here, and Helene could only now see the aftermath as they snuck warily through the abandoned streets. Occasionally, they caught glimpse of another city altogether. The Burg's sprawl had been built atop bridges, stone homes embedded in cliff faces on either side. The entire thing was suspended by rock lacework, thick platforms of shale and granite. A city that was built to last, both above and below. Between the bridges, a second half- more often than not, falling from the upper buildings would have entailed landing on shelves below, where twisted alleys took the place of empty expanses. Leni had to give it to the lost inhabitants of this land; they knew how to use space effectively.

They could construct, as well. Leni doubted Catarina's attempts at stone-brick houses such as these would have lasted half this long. Despite the scorch marks here and there, the occasional fallen brick, this area was mostly intact; a far cry from the ruined shrine they had come from.

"_Oscar, there."_

"_There what?"_

"_Look up. A fortification."_

Oscar craned his helm skywards, as Helene pointed. Not only did the Burg extend below, but up above there was yet another thick bridge; almost half the size of the Burg itself. At one end of that bridge, a fortification- a tower, extending far below to the Burg itself. At the other, a castle; no, more likely a cathedral. One could tell by the largest spire, extending almost as high as the sun itself- a bell tower.

"_I'll say this much, Oscar, they really loved their ravines."_

"_I cannot see it, I am afraid. Blasted vision slits don't much allow for sightseeing."_

"_So take it off?"_

"_Would, but I doubt I'd be able to readily replace it. That last group managed to get a blow in on my latch- dented it to scrap."_

"_Ah- I'll lead, then, shall I? Its a ways off- got this city to cross, then a tower and a bridge- but I'd bet my knickers we'll find a bell there. What looks to be a guardhouse between it and us- we can take a breather, there."_

Silence, from her compatriot- and Helene couldn't help but wonder why he suddenly sounded as if gagging.

"_A-Oscar? Are you alright?"_

She was half-ready to put her shield away and try to clear his lungs, before the dented battler suddenly laughed uproariously.

"_Ahaha! Y-You mean the knickers you nicked off the knackered knight? Haha!"_

Helene wasn't well-schooled enough to know what alliteration was, but she could certainly know a joke at her expense. The feelings it gave her were told by five knuckles to the Astoran's shoulder.

"_Ah! Oh, alright. You must admit, Helene, you did give me quite the opportunity-"_

"_I'll show **you** opportunity."_

"_Right. Lets just move on, then- there should be a way to that tower, rightly enough. Even if we don't find a bell in the parish, we'll at least get a birds' eye view. ...Or you will, at least."_

~͏̛͟͠͝~̶̀͢~̡̨͘͜͝~̧̛͠~͏̷̕͜~̛͏̸̵͡~̧͠͝~҉̶̶͡~͘͡͞~̷̶̀́~̶̡͟~̀͢͏͘~̵̧͢͢͟~̕͝~̸̶̷̨͝~̵̛̕͘~̷҉͏~̵̧͞~̨̛͘͝͡~̡́~̶̨͏̢~̸̧́͠~̡͏̶͢͝~̸҉̸̸̧~͟~̕~̵̀̕~̴̶͝҉̵~̛͟͡͝͝~̵̵̢̛͝

The bonfire crackled, between two panting figures. A guardhouse, long-fallen into disrepair in the center of the Burg. Barricading the door had been easy work; not that it was strictly necessary, but being interrupted was something neither of the pair desired at this time. Even as spread out as they were, Oscar and Helene had the occasional bloody mishap with the still-shambling dead.

"_Fancy round two?"_

"_In a moment, Oscar, I'm not built for this. Been a while since I've done anything like this at length, after all."_

"_Not yet, you are not. But hopefully, that will change. Strength is not important, remember- what you need is endurance. You've certainly an abundance of dexterity, otherwise I'd mention it. 'Tis fine, though- I more welcome the opportunity and practice, than an actual challenge."_

The dim glow of the bonfire flickered back and forth, its kindled flames licking at the pair.

"_You're certainly better at it than I am."_

"_Appreciation of the compliment aside, Helene, I'll not have a friend be helpless in an unsavory scenario. Come on now, pick it up- we might have all the time in the world, but you'll never get better if you lounge about each time you prick your thumb."_

It had been Oscar's idea, training in front of a Bonfire where their wounds would heal almost immediately. A looted longsword from one of the more well-armed soldiers found its way into Helene's tired hand, the chipped and nicked blade still gleaming through old rust. It was heavier than she would have liked- but Oscar assured her that it was well-balanced, and of a perfect weight to keep her right side proportioned with her shield.

Balance was important- it had been their first lesson together, Helene learning how to move in her admittedly heavier gear. Endurance would come as they trained- and now?

"_Remember, Helene, the difference between fighting a Human and fighting a Hollow."_

It was a question without query. Adjusting her bare hand on the handle, she leveled the blade at her friend.

"_Hollows always attack first. They rush, uncaring of their own lives. Humans react, and go for weaknesses."_

"_Right. And that is why we win in equal numbers. The only thing a Hollow can do is come at you in a group; and even then, they have very few tactics or strategy other than to overwhelm you. On some occasions you might find a Hollow that has just enough of its mind left to make a plan, but these are rare and few. Best to keep your shield up, and wait for an opening- or make your own. Now- react."_

A deft step forwards, and in exaggerated slowness it was Oscar's blade that came wheeling down...

~͏̛͟͠͝~̶̀͢~̡̨͘͜͝~̧̛͠~͏̷̕͜~̛͏̸̵͡~̧͠͝~҉̶̶͡~͘͡͞~̷̶̀́~̶̡͟~̀͢͏͘~̵̧͢͢͟~̕͝~̸̶̷̨͝~̵̛̕͘~̷҉͏~̵̧͞~̨̛͘͝͡~̡́~̶̨͏̢~̸̧́͠~̡͏̶͢͝~̸҉̸̸̧~͟~̕~̵̀̕~̴̶͝҉̵~̛͟͡͝͝~̵̵̢̛͝

...to a glancing blow off his shield. A push, and the hollow's blade was rebuked, his side sword neatly coming through the undead opponent's eyesocket.

"_Push on! Push on to the fortress!"_

His own orders. Stepping back and sweeping the battlefield, Rendal pushed his latest adversary off and raised that bloody blade.

"_All regroup! Push on!"_

One by one, the ragged knights broke free of an undead monsoon. King Rendal of Balder, once with more than two thousand men under his command, now with a mere thirty-nine.

It was a suicide mission. They had all known that. It made this knowledge no less heartbreaking, as his second-in-command babbled incoherent statistics and casualty lists. Rendal wasn't listening.

More than a thousand men dead, in Balder, his home. A home he himself had carved out for himself and others, with sword and might. He had lost more than half his army trying to stem the tide of undead that had sprung from homes, villages, and even his inner kingdom with seemingly no end.

Five hundred and more lay carrion upon the lands between Balder and Anor Londo- the city of sunlight. The home of Lord Gwyn, where Rendal thought he and his men might be safe- where he could seek meeting with the Lord of Giants, and reclaim his kingdom from the dead and damned.

Rendal had not thought he would lose another four hundred in the land of the ancient Lords.

Knight-King Rendal of Balder could never have believed that the undead curse had already spread here.

Side-by-side, his men battled like gods- with rapier and side sword, they advanced in twinline- his patented formation that gave meager forces a fighting chance. Two walls, of shields and blades- each man protected by himself, and those next to him. Half his force faced where they had been; half faced where they were going, and in this way they were a living dam against the dead surge.

You could have filled a lake, with the blood.

"_**Gwyn!"**_

Up the tower, single-file, knights neither at the fore nor back raised crossbows and rained hell upon the never-ending river of flesh. On either side, Rendal's second and himself made bulwark for the archers- their shields forcing hollows from the spiral stairs even as Rendal pushed onwards.

Always onwards. There was nothing for them where they'd come.

"_**Lord Gwyn! Hear me!"**_

The old Parish, the church of Fina, goddess of Purity. It had been fortified- and overrun. The statue and altar lay desecrated, its attendants every bit as corrupted as those outside. The battle continued, but they were all losing strength.

"_**Gwyn! Fina! Velka! Flann! Anyone!"**_

"_My king, they're not coming! We have to- Hgk!"_

Rendal turned and stared, watching as a rotted man collapsed upon his second. Too late, to react- already, the life was draining from Kevli and dripping down a knife. The hollow inhaled, as Lieutenant Kevli looked down in disbelief- the dregs of his own humanity being sucked away from him, into the bottomless pit of a hollow's hunger.

No one knew how the curse had begun.

Everyone knew one way it could spread.

Horrified, Rendal could only watch as the black smoke of a man's humanity was forcefully pulled out through Kevli's forehead, leaving behind a darkened circle of rot at the exit wound. There was nothing else for it, in this sacrilegious bloodbath; Kevli, and assuredly others, had joined the enemy's ranks.

Hope could stay the hunger of hollowing- but Rendal's men had no hope left. There was only his orders- and sheer tenacity to go down fighting.

"_Push on! **Push on! ****Don't look back!**"_

Far above, beyond the Burg, more screams and bloodshed- but of a different sort. Through several hours, it had gone on- deafening Londo Castle beyond a hope of sleep, a question of slumber.

Despite the hell outside the City of Sunlight, none could say it dwelled within; some pain was only a blessing.

It was far too late for Knight-King Rendal when the doors to the guest suite opened, a black-robed woman striding through.

"_It is a girl. I believe Duke Seath shall want to be present. Will someone fetch him from his archives? Lord Gwyn?"_

"_A dragon's child..."_

~͏̛͟͠͝~̶̀͢~̡̨͘͜͝~̧̛͠~͏̷̕͜~̛͏̸̵͡~̧͠͝~҉̶̶͡~͘͡͞~̷̶̀́~̶̡͟~̀͢͏͘~̵̧͢͢͟~̕͝~̸̶̷̨͝~̵̛̕͘~̷҉͏~̵̧͞~̨̛͘͝͡~̡́~̶̨͏̢~̸̧́͠~̡͏̶͢͝~̸҉̸̸̧~͟~̕~̵̀̕~̴̶͝҉̵~̛͟͡͝͝~̵̵̢̛͝

"_Not bad at all, for a beginner. Give it a couple months, and we'll have you going toes with armies."_

"_Rather not, if- if its all the- hh~ same to you, Oscar."_

Panting, Helene lowered her shield. Her friend hit like a catapult, even holding back; Leni could hardly feel her left hand. This was a far cry from the way Catarinians fought; she was using a smaller sword, for one. Catarina placed a lot of stock in large weapons and heavy armor, in an effort to force endurance into every warrior they had- not to mention that getting hit with a zweihander tended to end battles very quickly.

Using a shield and a longsword was more of an Astoran thing, and Helene found she rather liked it; as Oscar had said, strength was less of an issue, and proper positioning was more important. If only her hand would stop feeling like it had been run over by horse and cart...

"_Can't feel your fingers?"_

"_Or my elbow. Or my shoulder. You're not holding back as much as you think you are."_

Oscar laughed, voice ringing in that closed-face helm.

"_Part of it is that you're not using the shield properly!"_

"_What do you mean, 'not properly'? Its a big metal plate, you put it between the fleshy bits and sharp bits so you don't lose bits! Don't mess me about, Osca-"_

"_Wouldn't dream of it. There are a few tricks to using a shield- especially one as big as yours. Here- remember that overhand I used last?"_

"_Damn near took my arm off."_

"_If you'd angled the block, my sword would have skipped rather than slammed. Believe it or not, its very hard to alter the course of a blow once you've committed to it- and doing so is bound to not only take power out of the swing, but also tire out the swinger more quickly."_

"_What... sort of angle?"_

Oscar held up his crested shield, much the way she'd been doing- close to the body, face-on.

"_I'll show you the difference. Go on and swing- overhand, fast as you like. Here, this is what you've been doing."_

Helene took a step forward, raising her battered blade high- and bringing it down with the sound of metal upon metal.

_**WHANG.**_

Oscar barely grunted from the impact, rolling his shoulder as her sword's point met the ground. He'd taken it square, and Helene knew the same impact would probably have knocked that shield from her own hands. Hells, it had almost disarmed **her**, and she was the one swinging this time!

"_Right. That was what **you've** been doing. Taking the full force of your opponent's strength, rather than reducing it. I'm about to show you something else- but be certain, sometimes it helps to do it this way in certain circumstances- such as against arrows. Go on, one more time- and watch me close."_

Clearing her throat and shuffling back into position, dark-skinned Helene of Catarina was dubious. Surely, one would want as much of the shield covering their body as possible? Why was Oscar holding the shield to one side, his torso exposed?

But it wasn't exposed at all. Her second swing met the center of Oscar's smaller kite, and-

-bit nothing. Helene's sword skittered and slid across the polished and nicked surface, as if she'd struck nothing at all. It took all she had to keep herself from falling over, but the unexpected lack of resistance had taken her entirely off-balance.

"_Gods-"_

"_And that, my dear Helene, is the way to use a shield. Not as a wall, unless you are attempting to thwart an archer or some other unknown opponent- but as a mitt, shunting your opponent's weapon left or right as it suits you. There is, of course, one other trick you can do that I cannot- that large balder kite **can** be a wall, so long as you anchor it first. If you want to hold a doorway, or your opponent is using a weapon not easily deflected, slam the tip into the ground and lean against it- let your spine and legs take the hits, not your arm. Doing it properly can cause even a claymore to actually rebound, letting you score a good blow betwixt their guard."_

"_That was amazing-"_

And she was interrupted. The sound of something hellishly loud- like thunder breaking. Three times, echoes of those startling, explosive snaps kicked about the guardhouse... leaving Helene and Oscar dumbfounded, staring at the barricaded door of rotted chairs.

"_...What in the Abyss was that? Not even a ballista makes that sound..."_

"_No idea. Come on, Torch."_

"_Oscar?!"_

Her knight was already jogging to the door, kicking splintered wood away from the bottom and removing the hefty plank that barred it. What had gotten into him?! If it was another demon, Helene was damn certain she didn't want to meet it!

"_The bonfire is **here**, Oscar, can't we just wait for it to pass us by-"_

"_I would rather know the beast that caused it than live in fear of hearing it again!"_

"_Reckless! You're mad!"_

"_So I've been told!"_

~͏̛͟͠͝~̶̀͢~̡̨͘͜͝~̧̛͠~͏̷̕͜~̛͏̸̵͡~̧͠͝~҉̶̶͡~͘͡͞~̷̶̀́~̶̡͟~̀͢͏͘~̵̧͢͢͟~̕͝~̸̶̷̨͝~̵̛̕͘~̷҉͏~̵̧͞~̨̛͘͝͡~̡́~̶̨͏̢~̸̧́͠~̡͏̶͢͝~̸҉̸̸̧~͟~̕~̵̀̕~̴̶͝҉̵~̛͟͡͝͝~̵̵̢̛͝

The fire had vanished, leaving behind only an iron rod held upright within ashes. Two sat about the small room, its bronze-coated walls still gleaming in that neverending sun.

They had been told they were in Anor Londo, the land of the Ancient Lords- that Direction from the Gods would be found for them, soon enough. The Knight had yet to return, and so the horned warriors only sat in silence. Well, _mostly_ silence.

"_Stinks of dragons. And things _like_ dragons."_

The first to speak was a larger man, perhaps thirty, musclebound and hairy- his rusted armor spattered brown with old bloodstains, likely very little of it his own. His bristly face was half-concealed, under the skullcap that bristled with a bull's horns, his round shield and bearded axe safely clipped and holstered. The other in this room could only assume he'd come from somewhere cold- what portions of flesh his comrade's armor didn't cover were surrounded by thick bear-furs.

"_What's a dragon?"_

"_Never seen one? Consider yourself lucky, kid. Biggest damn things you'll ever see- winged lizards, with breath that can make a man into ashes with but a few seconds. Can't even kill'em. Not really- all you can do is make it so they don't get up again, if you've got the right blood in you. ...What's your name?"_

Scratching at his own horns, the lad considered this newest question. It was a **good** question- but his long-term memory wasn't the greatest, anymore. Less so, every time he'd gotten one step closer. Hopefully, the spirit would wait for him- he wasn't done, after all. Giving up- even if he kept feeling worse, each time, giving up was inconceivable.

"_Don't remember. Had one, once. Not mine, anymore. I guess- I guess I'm just a wanderer, now. I might remember when its all over. Doesn't matter if I do, really."_

He felt tired. He always felt tired. Everything felt too heavy- his arms, his head, his sword- even the arrows felt like he was lifting lead. But he wasn't the important one. Not in the slightest.

The furred fighter leaned forwards, giving his younger compatriot a look- the small lad was evidently suffering, even if he didn't want to show it. The horns on his head probably hurt- that was the Nord's guess. Pretty gear on him, though- all shined up, unstained. The Nord would have bet a few septims that the 'kid' never killed anyone before. At least, not anyone that bled. Tribal clothes- all embroidered up, which made him think of the Forsworn- but that glassy sword of his wasn't their work at all. Not Forsworn, then. Something else, and probably from somewhere else- just like him.

"_Kid'll work, then. Make things simple. Never much had a head for names, so it suits me fine- you can call me Ymir. Where you from? Or don'tcha remember that?"_

The kid shrugged. Not much of a chatterbox- but given that the lad looked like he was one foot in the grave already, such a thing couldn't be blamed. How a kid could look so... corpse-y... that was beyond him. Not rot, though, like the zombies of his time- just discolored pale flesh, like he should have been on show in a coffin somewhere.

"_Tamriel, me, not that you'd know where it is- Hey, you think she's coming back at all? Been a while."_

"_Yes."_

Again, not much of a chatterbox- and Ymir was rapidly running out of topics of conversation. He paused, for a short while, before reaching into his pouch for a grindstone- never hurt to have a fresh axe's edge, when things got hairy.

In the dull scraping of a blade being diligently sharpened, silence was at least somewhat banished- and fully broken, when the 'kid' deigned to finally ask his first question all day. Well, it was probably only a couple hours- but given that the sun here didn't move at all, the awkward silences seemed much longer than that.

"_Why?"_

"_Eh?"_

Another eerie thing about the kid was those eyes- he couldn't have been more than twenty, and Ymir had the sneaking suspicion that it was only that worn expression making him look older- but the black eyes were ancient. Despite his profession of facing down the worst of beasts, Ymir found himself anxious to be suddenly in a different room.

"_Why are you so... friendly?"_

"_Well... why shouldn't I be?"_

"_You don't know me. I hardly know myself, anymore. We're in a strange land, and don't want to be here. You're a mercenary- or have the look of one. Your kind are used to looking for backstabbers. Assassins, around every corner. You've killed. A lot, from the look of your armor. Taking me on would probably be easy, for you, and be one less unknown after I'm six feet under. So ...Why?"_

It was the most he'd said yet. Nonplussed, the 'Mercenary' stared at him through the skull cap- the kid had a point, though he hadn't put 'looking freaky' on that list of reasons. There wasn't a good answer- at least, not one that Ymir had. One answer suited all questions, though, and gave him time to consider a real response.

"_You drink, kid?"_

"_Hm?"_

Sweeping forward, the muscular man rolled a bottle of orangeish glass across the floor. It bumped against the lad's foot, spinning in place for a few seconds.

"_Juniper mead. The good stuff- the rare stuff. Don't waste it, alright? I was saving it for a special occasion. ...I think this counts."_

The bottle was lifted, stared at, with the eyes of ancients. No motion was made to remove the cork- it was like he was reading a label that wasn't there.

"_That... doesn't answer my question."_

"_You didn't answer any of mine."_

Ymir was smiling- it was a jest, a small prod to try and get a rise out of the kid. No luck- the tribal wasn't even paying attention, and Ymir could only huff in irritation.

"_I guess... I am a mercenary- in a way. I don't do it for the gold, though- I do it because I gotta. Gold buys you things- buys you options- and you need all the options you can get, when you're me. What you're born with just doesn't cut it, 'cause what you're up against can kill you **and** the rest of the world with a 'hello'. So you end up doing everything you can, whether you like it or not, just to get that next option- that next little ace in the hole."_

Finally, the lad looked up- but he didn't say a word.

"_In the end, doesn't matter what that is- anything goes, so long as you save the day. I've done a lot of things, kid. I've been the bad guy. I've been the good guy. I've done everything from rescuing idiot nobles to pounding some lovestruck bard's face against the wall so hard Talos himself shoulda come down and stopped me. Just so everybody wins out, in the end. People started calling me a champion, a hero, a god, but all I can remember is faces- and you don't want to know what they looked like, when I was done with them, no matter which side I was on at the time. All I know's one thing. I prefer to be the good guy- and maybe a new thing to do is just what I need. The lass in bronze seems a stand-up sort, a righteous sort, dont'cha think?"_

The kid nodded, his horns waving with his head.

"_Well- I'd really like to be the good guy again. Permanently, this time. And you look like you've been through the gauntlet, kid, no offense. Kid like you could probably use a friend- and I sure as hell could use some company. ...Gonna pop that cork, or what?"_

As if surprised at the fact he was still holding the mead, he looked down- his ghostly voice somewhat puzzled.

"_Can't remember the last time I drank anything..."_

"_No wonder you look like a draugr. Pop it, drink it slow- then pass it over here, 'cause I hate talking about this junk. Maybe when she gets back we can get that fire going again- cook us some meat."_

There was the sound of a cork being removed from a tight spot.

~͏̛͟͠͝~̶̀͢~̡̨͘͜͝~̧̛͠~͏̷̕͜~̛͏̸̵͡~̧͠͝~҉̶̶͡~͘͡͞~̷̶̀́~̶̡͟~̀͢͏͘~̵̧͢͢͟~̕͝~̸̶̷̨͝~̵̛̕͘~̷҉͏~̵̧͞~̨̛͘͝͡~̡́~̶̨͏̢~̸̧́͠~̡͏̶͢͝~̸҉̸̸̧~͟~̕~̵̀̕~̴̶͝҉̵~̛͟͡͝͝~̵̵̢̛͝

In the catacombs, silence was broken.

Through time and space they had been pulled here, these undead. Two- and their presence disturbed the First of the Dead greatly. What had those _holes_ been, and why here? The red fog that frothed from them was not blood, nor smoke. Nito's curiosity had gotten the better of him, here in the darkness. Nothing had changed in the Tomb since he had taken up residence- newness was not a good thing.

Especially not newness that came in the form of the accursed.

One was far more hollow than the other- emaciated, as if without vital organs altogether. A rotted shade of moldy blue, his skin. A ragged cloth covered his lower jaw, hair melted by some unknown effect into a slick, disgusting jelly-like carapace. All his fingers, grown together into three talons of bone on each hand- mutated, no doubt, perhaps due to an interaction with the Soul of Chaos. That would have accounted for the shredded membrane of what could only have once been wings, extending from the hollow's back.

It was the only explanation. An undead demon, of Izal's chaos.

The other was far easier to catalogue. A swordsman, judging by the heavily-inscribed blades on either side of his hips. Longswords, perhaps eastern- single-bladed and scabbardless. A wide-brimmed hat lay not too far away, exposing a balding head of silver, riddles with scars and scabs. An old hollow, to be sure- wrinkles belied age, far beyond a point where any man should naturally have progressed. Belts and bandoliers, over a long black coat tightly buttoned- muscles pushing out the old leather like cheese in squeezed cloth.

They weren't dead, Nito could tell- but they weren't moving, either.

Clattering the jaws of his skulls together in apprehension, one too-long hand of stolen bones reached for the mutated intruder...

~͏̛͟͠͝~̶̀͢~̡̨͘͜͝~̧̛͠~͏̷̕͜~̛͏̸̵͡~̧͠͝~҉̶̶͡~͘͡͞~̷̶̀́~̶̡͟~̀͢͏͘~̵̧͢͢͟~̕͝~̸̶̷̨͝~̵̛̕͘~̷҉͏~̵̧͞~̨̛͘͝͡~̡́~̶̨͏̢~̸̧́͠~̡͏̶͢͝~̸҉̸̸̧~͟~̕~̵̀̕~̴̶͝҉̵~̛͟͡͝͝~̵̵̢̛͝

"_I might have an explanation."_

Logan turned, his wide hat spinning in place like a top. His new acquaintance had been largely silent while the Seeker contemplated Seath's question, and it was only testament to her silence that even the draconic Duke blinked in withheld surprise.

How sure of herself, her posturing- even though her next words spoke of uncertainty, Zelda's stance was of one that firmly believed she could be of help. How quickly she went to speaking of her own demise, to aiding those she mistrusted- what sort of monarch was she supposed to be?

_**][Hmm?][**_

"_Assuming I have been following this conversation correctly, and I believe I have despite my limited knowledge of your arcane sciences, I liken these 'soapstones' to be something of a miner's canary."_

"_I don't follow you, Princess Zelda. Understand, neither of us are the sort to pick up a shovel and go to work."_

_**][Perhaps not you, Logan, but I have done a fair amount of digging in my time. Such work gives a sort of 'mental peace', after all.][**_

The Duke laughed in both of their minds, causing Logan to flinch. It was a sardonic sound, the sort that hinted at a double meaning somewhere that only the Scaleless really found amusing.

_**][Despite this, I am unfamiliar even with what use a canary would have in a shaft. Enlighten me.][**_

Zelda cleared her throat.

"_On occasion, delvers into the earth take along with them small songbirds, as both company from the doldrums of long hours, and a sort of alarm. Not wanting to be underground, a canary will sing for hours on end. When in the proximity of toxic gases released by errant mining, however, the canary will die- long before such secretive gases would overcome the people working, allowing them to retreat before suffering any ill effects. Miners speak of a canary shrieking in panic, mere seconds before falling unconscious- then promptly deceased."_

"_Still not following you, Princess. Where's this going? Mind you, metaphor is not my strong suit. I used to dock gradings for such nonsense."_

Shooting him an irked look, the monarch-to-be turned her attention once more to the alabaster beast. Seath, however, only raised one graceful talon-tipped hand to silence her. Could dragons smile? If they could, Zelda was certain Seath would be wearing a grin. It was a difficult expression to make out, when one had a mouth half as long as their head.

_**][What she means, Big-Hat, is that the soapstones have stopped working because there is nothing for them to do. Like the canary, they worked harder and faster before becoming useless.][**_

"_My apologies, Duke Seath, but really, your hinting is doing nothing for me. I'm an academic man, not a poetic one. I deal in facts, not riddles."_

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so dismissive; Seath did not take kindly to being accused of beating around the bush, and his psychic snarl cowered Logan as easily as a raging tiger's roar.

_**][Riddles make up the world, human! Discovering them gives you knowledge, and knowledge is power. Magic, merely the byproduct! Answers are temporary, Questions are eternal! You are focused too much upon the result, not the cause- step back, and look at the entirety before you focus upon an aspect. Knowing how quickly an object will strike you is nothing compared to knowing who threw it. Is all your mind based upon the truths given to you on a silver plate?! I wonder if-][**_

"_Enough."_

Seath's growling voice changed targets, then, focus whipping from Logan's mind to Zelda's as all three of his lower appendages began to twist in outrage. He could still hear it, of course, but such was the nature of Seath's telepathic ability that one could instantly know who it was directed towards. Logan lowered his hat from his face (when had he taken it off his head again? Now it was becoming a habit- he needed to curb that), shocked eyes looking at the interrupting Princess.

She had spoken to them as if they were both children.

_**][You dare?][**_

"_I do."_

_**][In the interest of sheer curiosity, I shall allow you a moment to explain yourself before I enact my growing ire.][**_

"_If we are to get to the bottom of this matter, Duke, you will both need each other at your bests- squabbling and quarreling over how the other thinks is not conducive to this, as each has their own means at arriving at the same conclusion. When you have two different styles, a partisan approach is far greater than mindlessly striking with both in the same place."_

Silence, from the snow-skinned Seath. Gradually, slowly, his growl became the constrained hiss of a wary and puzzled canine. Would he destroy her? Logan had no idea- but then, the temperamental dragon had stayed his breath from her once before, and if anything Seath looked more intrigued than angry, now. The thrashing lower body of tentacles quieted, wrapping once more about his crystals for support.

_**][You are correct. Thank you.][**_

Logan supposed an apology would have been far too much to ask for; but then, neither had he offered one either. It was back to business, just like that- and somehow, the Princess was keeping from looking smug. Strange- if Logan had just managed to come away unharmed after speaking to a dragon like he were a spoiled brat, one could rest certain that old Big-Hat would have been dancing a jig!

_**][What we have been getting at, Logan, is that somehow the myriad timelines of our world have come together. The soapstones cannot take you to a place you already are- therefore, they do not function at all.][**_

"_Funnily enough, I believe I've thought of the reason why Wilhelm wrote of 'needing to prepare' for when that happened. If one of our timelines became heavily altered, in some way, surely they could potentially result in our acquaintance here. I would be dismissive, but- well, you can see the evidence right here. However-"_

_**][However?][**_

"_That isn't the case at all. Soapstones do not simply drag you from one timeline into another- they replace who you would be in the other world with who you are in this one on a temporary basis. This would be impossible if the timelines varied too much from one another, as you'd inevitably run into yourself at some point. This has never happened, therefore it is unlikely. Additionally, in all the stories I've read of soapstone adventures, there has never once been mention of anywhere known as 'Hyrule'."_

_**][Then what is your answer, Logan?][**_

Slamming his hat once more upon balding head, Logan tilted his face downwards. His flair for dramatic posturing, getting the best of him- but surely, it was warranted.

"_Other worlds exist, Seath, and they are clashing with ours."_

A pause, as he waited for this to sink in. He could take the time to cough, adjust his foot that was slowly falling asleep, adjust his belt.

"_Wilhelm believed the expanding 'cloud' of Lordran's timelines were adrift in what he called 'The Vita'. A theoretical liquid, potentially made of raw magic or souls, that the soapstone membrane of a world protected its insides from and fed off of to sustain itself. If Lordran's mass and size were to suddenly drop considerably, no doubt it would cause a disturbance in the Vita- put a little motion into the ocean, so to speak."_

Logan did not often joke, and more was his chagrin when no one laughed.

"_For some reason, the moving timelines of Lordran never caused such a thing- possibly, the timelines themselves were isolated from the other worlds by a different, separate membrane- likely the original one, if Lordran had been singular before. That was Wilhelm's theory, and even he admitted that this particular part could be wrong. It hardly matters anyway, if all our timelines have come together again."_

_**][Indeed.][**_

The three were silenced from their reveries, then, by the unmistakable sound of clapping. Four fingers against the left palm, both enthusiastic and proud- the slow clap of someone who had witnessed a mind-bending marvel from their own child. Following it was the rushed jitter of a man who had found all his words some time ago, and was only now shoving them all out of his mouth at once.

"_Now _**that**_ is what I live for, except not _really_ now! Bloody brilliant, the lot of you. Here I was, thinking I'd come in and be my information-happy usual, and here you three are, unraveling the mysteries of time and space all by yourself! Right place, right time, I **must** say, and that's a first! I don't suppose any of you have a flux shard lying about, do you? Or know what one is? Little shiny red thing? Or perhaps a small dull white thing? No, no, of course not. Well, It'll have to wait, then, till I figure out what you're calling it- meantime, you are positively **magnificent.** Love your hat by the way, don't think I've left you out chap, you'll have to tell me where I can find one, its only the honking great beast before me that caught my attention first! He really is stunning, isn't he. Logan, right? No shard? No? Well, I suppose I could make do with a bloody egg, but it'd take a fair bit longer and be a lot heavier, I can tell you that. Not the sort of thing for a screwdri- Is anyone paying attention? Hello~o?"_

In unison, the attentions of all three refocused- staring, like deer in headlights. At the entrance to Seath's meeting chamber was a fourth, dressed in brown commoners' garb- a dingy longcoat, trousers and a rather torn white undershirt. So smeared was his face with soot, the young man could easily have been on a trip to the center of the earth and none been the wiser; none of that explaining the strange ribbon tied about his neck- nor how he was transparent, ghostly.

"_Dreadfully quiet, all of a sudden, and here I was thinking I'd join a boisterous conversation over timelines and worlds and all that ...jazz, before I got what I needed. Funny, it really seems familiar. If I had to guess, the next thing anyone says would be-"_

_**][Who are you?!][**_

The man looked up and smiled, as if pleasantly surprised.

"_Exactly! Deja vu! I'd tell you, but it wouldn't really mean anything- tell you what."_

As if making a joke only he'd understand, the grinning intruder caught Zelda a sidelong glance.

"_I'm the Hero of Time."_

_**][I demand to know what you are-][**_

"_Doing in your Archives? Marvelous place, must say- and I'm sure I'd have a few choice things to compare it to if any of you had the slightest clue what I'd be talking about. Told you, actually, but you didn't know what I mea- Oh, of course! Soapstone! I'll take that and get going, shall I?"_

_**][Apprehend this man! Seal him in!][**_

Seath had suddenly reared back to his full enormous height, still nowhere close to the ceiling of his meeting room. The roar was not directed at confused Logan, or puzzled Zelda, but outside- and like a gunshot, the doors became flooded with a dozen hulking, robed channelers. Logan was already turning and making a dash for safety behind one of Seath's massive crystal prisms- Zelda, backing slowly away with a dumbfounded expression.

More was the surprise when the stranger made no effort to flee.

"_I really, really hoped it wouldn't come down to this, but I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush. Take too long, and I'll miss my own exit. Only one ticket, and that means I've got to pull out all the stops."_

_**][Chain hi-][**_

A fencer wouldn't have had the flourish of this translucent man, spinning in place with arm outstretched to the sky. His hand, empty before, now held what Seath could only describe as a metal catalyst tipped with an emerald. There was a near-inaudible 'click'.


	17. 2: Storm Warning

Click.

"_Hello? Douglas?"_

"_How are you doing?"_

It had been some time. Almost a month, by her count, since last they spoke. Putting the cellphone to her ear and nestling it against one shoulder, her fingers were put to work untying the wraps from around her knuckles and palms. The punching bag could wait.

"_Good, all things considered."_

A lie then- she'd told a lie, but Douglas didn't need to be involved in this. Bloodless bandages were tossed to one side of her unmade bed, newly-bare hand sweeping across the only other piece of furniture in her apartment, besides the kitchen stove and counter.

Yeah, it was a shithole. One tended to not have a lot of money, with her hobbies taking up so much of her time.

She inhaled.

"_Then why've you started smoking again? I thought you quit-"_

"_Would you?"_

"_No, but... I'm worried about you. What is **with** you? Buying swords? Occult ...things? Bullets? You put five hundred down on-"_

"_A thing you don't need to be concerned about, Douglas."_

"_I do need to be concerned about it! I was there too-"_

"_Your dad didn't die because of it."_

A trump card- or at least, something close to it. Thumping the back-half of her coffin nail into a nearby ashtray, the bed became encumbered with a rather toned rump. Douglas's stunned silence wouldn't last long.

"_Don't lie to me, Hea-"_

"_That's **not** my name."_

"_Why are you doing this?! Its over, its dead, you can live your life, grow up, enjoy yourself- there's no way-"_

"_You don't know that, Douglas. I **know** you don't know that. You want to help me? Tell me if I forgot something- make sure I'm planning **right.** Maybe I'll sleep a little better, if I'm not unprepared."_

Silence, from the other end- putting him on speakerphone, the communications device was tossed onto a pillow. Three years. Three years that could have been so different.

But they couldn't have been, could they? Not after that. What should have been college, drinking, stupid mistakes that determined the course of a life- it was instead a militant effort to be **better** at everything. Days were spent working the morning shift at a packaging facility- stuff that required a **lot** of heavy lifting. The more, the better. Days off, she took the same hours at a firing range- pistol shots at mid range and short, for eight hours. Evenings were spent beating the living daylights out of a sack of sand, hanging from the one-room apartment's ceiling.

She didn't talk about her nights. They were the kind of thing you kept quiet about.

Hands gripped the bottom of her tanktop, pulling it over her head as Douglas cleared his throat. He'd caved- Douglas always caved.

"_What've you got?"_

Reciting the list was as easy as remembering her inventory check that morning.

"_One Colt M1911A1, seven-round magazine, six magazines total of .45 ACP. Cleaned, this morning. Affixed laser sight._

_One flashlight, with wrist strap. Two sets of D-batteries, one loaded, both fresh in box one._

_Ten Epipens, caps intact, in box one._

_Two maritime distress signals, in box one._

_My switchblade, too- and a pocketknife for backup._

_Some beef jerky. Barbeque. Not for dogs- gotta keep my strength up._

_One first-aid kit, unused-"_

Interrupted.

"_What's box one?"_

"_An empty first-aid kit box, got it at the army surplus place. Painted it black so I could tell'em apart."_

"_Alright, keep goin'."_

"_Box one's also got a flick-lighter, and a couple packs of stale Whittakers in case I run out. Moving on, there's my cement bat- and that's pretty much it. All bases covered?"_

"_Rope, maybe?"_

She shook her head, lying across the bed and talking to the ceiling. Rope wasn't the sort of thing that could fix what she was worried about.

"_Survival, Douglas, not exploration. I'm not interested in finding out what's at the bottom, I wanna skirt around the side. Kapische?"_

"_I see your point. ...You didn't mention the occult stuff."_

"_And I'm not going to. Got any suggestions, or not?"_

"_None off the top of my head, but- are you **sure**, Hea- Cheryl? Its been three years- it isn't coming back."_

Three years. One of them, spent in Douglas's old office. At the end of it, she'd expressed a desire to leave, and gotten a job at happy burger. Cheryl hadn't told him, but Douglas wasn't stupid; he knew she needed to get away from him. Douglas was a memory of that hell. It didn't stop him from calling her once a month, just to make sure she was still alive; Cheryl appreciated it, even if he brought back a few bad dreams.

Douglas didn't bring anything she wasn't thinking of every second now, anyway.

Two years, honing her body and soul. Both of them, literally- but the latter wasn't something she cared to talk about. Douglas didn't know why, couldn't understand why, would dismiss it as a delusion- but Cheryl had her reasons.

As before, it began with dreams.

What she'd thought had been only her mind playing tricks when she slept in the same place as her surrogate had been revealed to be so much more. Nights of wild fear, tinged with sweat and cold starts at odd hours. Nights of torment, spent running for her life in places that by all rights shouldn't have existed.

Places she'd been. Places she'd surely go once more.

And then there was the other thing; the final sign, that she knew better than to try and escape. That **thing **she instinctively knew to be evil incarnate, a product of her own nature. **It **had come back, and she'd follow soon after.

"_It might. If you don't have anything helpful to say, Douglas, I'm sorry, but I'm beat. Gotta head to bed soon."_

"_Eh- alright. Don't- er..."_

"_Don't what?"_

"_Forget it. ...Stay safe, Cheryl."_

"_Night, Douglas."_

Click.

The room was nearly pitch-black, without the light of the cellphone. Cheryl hadn't paid the electric bill since she'd moved in- no point to it, really. Taking her hand off the pillow where she'd closed it, it was a quick setup to hook the charger and phone up to the extension cord she'd run into the apartment next door. The old couple inside still hadn't found the hole she'd knocked through their wall, to the outlet behind their television. To be fair, they probably hadn't gone back there- ever. Yes, it was a hell of a thing to do, but Cheryl had long-since discovered just how far she'd go to stay alive. Considering it involved firing a gun, stealing electricity was small-time.

Cheryl had lied, again.

In a black room that smelled of worked sweat and exhausted flesh, Cheryl was not about to try and sleep. It had been two days, since she'd actually slept in this room- preferring to sneak naps atop the roof. There was a reason why, and it dealt with a very specific wall.

A wall that wasn't the same grimy, blank, off-white canvas her **other** walls still kindly held themselves to. In the darkness, it was too easy to see- twin concentric circles, their center filled with three more arranged into a rough triangle. The empty spaces between, filled with odd runes and symbols that had, previously, meant nothing.

In the darkness, it had a red glow, bathing all near it the color of carnage.

No one could ignore the Halo of the Sun- the symbol that she was speaking to, standing up from the ragged bed in nothing but urban-camo cargo pants and off-white, stained sports bra.

"_I know someone's listening, on that side. Don't try and fucking hide it."_

Three steps, and she was inches from it, now. Leaning in, so close to the precipice of madness.

"_Hell, maybe **you're** paying attention. I wouldn't put it past you. I know how fucked up you are."_

Her right hand balled into a fist, elbow and shoulder cocking back.

"_You know it now, don't you, though. Cheryl knows all the little spells and rituals that made you **what you are.** Cheryl's coming- and round two's gonna be a **bitch** 'cause I'm not **fucking around** with your little **games. **I'm not **scared** of you, anymore. You better bring it. 'Cause if you don't-"_

Her knuckles, unwrapped, thunked the wall. Came away, with blood across her fingers.

"_-I'm gonna- _oh, **fuck.**_"_

She shouldn't have done that. She **really** shouldn't have done that. Touching the symbol- striking inside the innermost concentric circle had caused the entirety to **sink in**, like some obscene button. No- like a seal, the painted center portion starting to crack and chip.

"_Such a fucking dunce- gotta **move.**"_

The sound was horrendous, as plaster and bits of wood fell to the ruined carpet.

Cheryl was a madwoman- no one moved like someone with a time limit between themselves and hell itself.

One hand ripped her Cell off the charger. Another, snapping up her backpack. In the light of her phone, she could see fairly well- into the bag went a circle of steel, emblazoned with a symbol much like that which decorated her wall. Next to follow was a fist-sized pyramid of four sides, divided into smaller shapes. A book, the title reading 'Otherworld Laws'. A small cardboard box, no larger than her forearm. A pack of unopened tarot cards.

The pack was zippered shut, flung towards the hole where it landed on the floor. Cheryl wasn't done- not yet.

Tanktop- the discarded fabric snatched from the carpet, shoved roughly down over a head of bleached-silver hair. Two belts- one a makeshift bandolier. In them she hefted an aluminum baseball bat, somehow heavier than the usual fare to her hip (no doubt due to the three-pound knot of Quikrete she'd filled the top with)- a long, tarnished silvery sword with triangular handle to her back. Uncomfortable- but probably necessary. An old red radio was clipped to the front of the bandolier, right under her bra.

Off the kitchen counter, a filled holster was buttoned to her lower belt- opposite the bat. Magazines, shoved into cargo pockets. Heavy, but nothing she couldn't run in. That was everything- except one thing. Something she'd looked for first, in that scarlet book of ceremonies. Empty hand grabbed the lid of the stove's pot, ignoring the heat as she tossed it roughly aside.

"_Hope you're ready- supposed to be two weeks, right? It's been two weeks, hasn't it? Shit, don't remember- Well, time's up."_

Nevermind that. A steel thermos was dunked into the bubbling pot, on the end of a pair of salad tongs. It came back up again, full of a pinkish liquid- a very important liquid. On went the lid, screwed tightly shut- and into the mesh sidepocket of her backpack, as she neared the red-ringed hole again.

Yes, the hole- it was massive, enough to crawl through. What had once been a wall was now a three-foot gaping cavern that tunneled right through, the end nowhere in sight. Cheryl wondered, briefly, if the people next door saw anything on the other end. Had they even heard it?

Probably not.

Did it want her to go through? Should she do it, or was it better to just ignore it? On her back, the weight of her pack caused her to shift. It was going to chafe, but that was fine.

"_Fine. Have it your way. Funny- I don't remember you being so fucking **polite-** AU-ghk!"_

A haired hand, large enough to wrap around her chest and pull her in.

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

Silence was broken.

"_What game plays **now**?"_

A stirring. Nito's hand inches from the mutilated undead, Lord of Law recoiled. Three talons of one hand slammed into the stone floor, screeching before gaining purchase. A surge of motion, and the azure-skinned ghoul was pulling himself upright.

"_A return to travesty. Oh, how could I be so foolish as to think one full circle was enough? And what's this?"_

That face, half-covered by stained rag, was affixing the Gravelord with a stare of white fog. Indeed, the very sockets of this resurrected demon fizzed with an unholy mist. Suffice it to say that, for the Gravelord, it was somewhat intimidating when coupled with such sarcasm. One might have thought the Gravelord a coward- and in some ways, true, he was. Nito knew this, and for very good reason. His power of Law had no effect upon those who were both dead and alive. The Undead were beyond his reach, in that.

"_Be I in hell? This, the bodies of wandering souls I have consumed in my ill-fated journey at another's behest? Banded together, literally, to strike me down? Or are you something lesser, aberration of bone and shadow?"_

"_Summun get the name of that horse, 'm gonna have it for brunch- unh."_

Nito's patchwork body turned in unison with the mutant as the second interloper roused, reaching for his hat.

"_And who are you, I wonder? You look almost as corroded as **me**, mortal."_

"_Nnh. Dun' mind me. Got a damn headache. Portal bullshit."_

"_Portal?"_

Nito was once again eyed, the lanky blue monster taking slow steps towards him. Perhaps it was instinct, that his bony hand tightened around the massive blade at his side.

"_Don't like portals- something cataclysmic and important seems to happen whenever I step through the other side, rather like speaking to a certain bastard I happen to know. But you're not him-"_

A raising of one tri-taloned hand, into a pointing gesture. The creature looked along his own arm, for all the world as if he held a crossbow.

"_-and you're certainly not anyone else I know of. Well, fairly sure. It helps that I and Kain happened to **kill** all the major players already. That leaves one option-"_

"_Not in Kansas anymore, Toto."_

Interrupted by the seated swordsman, the ghoul caught him a sidelong glance. The less-talkative of the two had his aged face hidden by that three-cornered hat.

"_What's that? Are you from this 'Kansas'?"_

"_Never seen Wizard of Oz? ...Nevermind, then. And I dunno- been a while since I called anywhere 'home'."_

"_You're speaking in riddles, old man, and I'm sick to a third death of riddles."_

The swordsman looked up, casting red-hued gaze upon the chatty undead. A snarl across his face- a smile? Hard to say, when skin was so leathery it tended to wrinkle everywhere but where it counted.

"_I'm saying we're up shit creek, freak. We're not where we came from."_

"_Freak? I'd be offended if you weren't accurate. Still, I'd advise you to watch your t- ...ughn. My head- what is...?"_

As one, the wincing duo looked through the dark chamber at Nito's patchwork bulk. His skulls were clattering, even as the two 'words' entered their minds. A strange voice- one that seemed never to be spoken, rather hinted at. As if their subconscious had tried making itself known. Such 'words' spoke to their very bones, ricocheted off their spirits, and lodged themselves irretrievably in their spines.

Nito's voice was impossible to ignore, once he deigned to speak.

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

"_You're drunk."_

"_I damn well better be woman, tha' jup- er, junip'r mead's th' last've it."_

The ten-foot square room was now more occupied than it had been. Junk was strewn about the place, not the least of which was several empty bottles. A backpack, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and erroneous gear tossed willy-nilly- these two had certainly made themselves at home.

"_I hope you plan on cleaning this up."_

"_**I **hope you've gor- gottan answer as t' why y' were **gone** fer four-odd hours. Yer fire went out, an' th' kid'ere's starvin'. Can't go'an do nothin' on an empty stomach."_

"_A shame, as I've no food- nor utensils to prepare it with. I would suggest stopping in Darkroot, seeing if you can catch some game."_

Oblivious to her snide sarcasm, the drunken warrior leaned over and reached for his satchel. It took a few moments of searching, but eventually wineskins of chicken blood and water as well as several vegetables were withdrawn. They, and a rather tarnished pot and spoon, were clumsily tossed to the previously-spotless floor.

"_Thar. Do your fur- ...hn. Firekeepin' thing, Lavian, I'll have us all full up- then we can do whatever yer dey- dei- ...god wants."_

After the older warrior's barely-restrained belch, she could only take a small step back- not wanting to abandon the bonfire again. Two fingers, encased in brass, stroked the pommel of the bonfire's vessel- flaring her lifeline into a burning light. These two were hardly 'Righteous warriors'- but far better it be to brighten her master's spirits, than speak of an ill boy and a gruff bandit.

The former of the two had fallen asleep, oddly enough, sitting upright in the corner. Poor lad. Despite how little she cared for the ironclad drunk, the boy could be afforded some peace before asking action of them.

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

"_An interesting proposition."_

"_No doubt."_

The Tomb became quiet once more, as the pair of not-so-dead men pondered their host's words.

"_I am unsure. On the one hand, what you offer me is a good deal more than the contracts I have been roped into time and again. On the other, I can hardly trust you, 'First of the Dead.' Your esteem holds echoes of those who've 'guided' me in the past. Suffice it to say that such meetings grew sour."_

"_You're not the only one who's made deals with death, rookie."_

"_Oh?"_

Nito only watched, as the ragged-winged creature caught the warrior a sidelong glance. The Gravelord had spoken his peace and piece- and loathe though he was to entrust a task to those possibly beyond his grasp, extreme measures were called for in extreme circumstances.

"_Mmhm."_

"_Do elaborate, old man. It might color my judgment."_

For the first time in this three-sided conversation, the trenchcoated warrior was standing up. Rolling his shoulders with the creak of ancient bones, a sour face opened to inhale. Nito could feel them both better, now, with the expertise of one who'd long-since mastered his chosen domain- the swordsman was not undead, no. He was immortal, without stasis of the body. The **other** was far, far stranger than those Darksigned undead that he hated.

"_I've been to other planes, before. Places of elemental strength, but I think they were always attached to my world somehow. I could always feel my tormentor there- but now, he's gone. Stands to reason he's farther away. Too far to undo anything I try, which is fine by me."_

"_You spoke of being denied death, old man."_

"_Yeah. No rest for the wicked. I'm a damn good swordsman, rookie. Always have been. Got kinda big for my britches, and challenged Death to a bit of a duel. I guess I should've been concerned when Death didn't want anything from me if he happened to win. My prize was immortality, plain and simple. I should have thought a little harder on it."_

"_Immortality is wonderful, in the right hands."_

"_Not like this. Never like this. Death threw the fight- I know that now. The reaper called me on it, and gave me precisely what I asked for. You can't kill Death, so you can't beat him. He can **only** let you win, and he's a prick about it. So yeah- I **can't** die. Not in the normal means. I can feel it all- age, drowning, burning, starvation- but my body just heals itself- I just come back, with a shitload of pain and bad memories. Torture's what it is."_

"_No way to end it?"_

The swordsman chuckled, a disturbing raspy sound.

"_Kill all supernatural evil. Anyone that ends life prematurely, making themselves Death's enemy. They killed a bunch of people to make themselves stronger, so Death kept me from dying to take them down."_

"_Ironic."_

"_Yeah. Not a bad clause- hell, I've killed before. Comes with the territory. 'cept for one small detail. I **did** that. Entire world, I carved a righteous swath of destruction from one pole to the other. And you know what he told me?"_

"_I'm sure you'll say."_

"_He said 'I meant the entire universe, dumbass'. Not in those exact words, but- well, you could hear what he meant. And here's me, without a way to leave the planet. Caught me sitting around for **centuries**, Rookie, getting older and older- can't sleep, 'cause my head gets filled with **shit**. I wake up, and I'm covered in wounds that my **targets** are inflicting on **victims. **And normally? Normally I couldn't care less."_

The bloodshot eyes narrowed, causing the white-fog eyes of the ghoul to follow in turn.

"_You get a specific kind of hate when you're feeling what they do to other people, freak. You get a real **specific** kind of hate. But I don't have the damn will to wait however many centuries it takes to get to those other worlds. I want out. I want to die- and if Nito says he's got something he can try, then..."_

"_Perhaps it is worth taking the plunge, if he can restore my old flesh to me. Seems we're brothers in this, then."_

"_Brother is kind of a strong word, Rookie."_

"_True. Allies, then- and the name is Raziel."_

"_I'm Chakan."_

As if thinking something foul, it was the mutant's gaze that found Nito once more. The gravelord was beginning to sincerely dislike the eerie glow that often came his way now, and clattering skulls betrayed his uneasiness.

"_You realize what happens if you're lying to us, do you not, 'Lord' of the Dead? At least **one** of us, if not both, will ensure vengeance is taken. We can do this for you- but know you're entering a deal you **cannot** leave."_

As one, his myriad skulls nodded in agreement. The warrior, Chakan, was next to speak.

"_Lets get going. If this 'Pinwheel' is the closest, we might as well hit that poor sap first. After that, the dragon. I imagine he'll be a harder fight, anyway- but the bigger they are..."_

"_The more filling their soul."_

"_...Right. Then, we go combing for this 'Lord Soul', or 'First Flame'- whatever its called."_

"_Steep tasks. It had better be worth it."_

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

A soup. Just the sort of thing for a lad seemingly on the verge of starvation, as it was both filling and easy to digest. The 'Kid' had woken up near an hour later, partially due to Ymir's voice- there was an odd, booming quality to it that he just couldn't repress. Now, the three of them sat amongst their discarded gear and trash, supping noisily upon the food.

The bronze-armored woman of full-faceplate hadn't joined them, instead choosing to lean against the far wall despite Ymir's best efforts to entice her. 'Firekeeper Lavian' had no need of food, choosing instead to relate her Master's words while they ate. Ymir and the Kid, however, used the pot as one bowl- taking turns slurping at either side. It would be Ymir who responded to her information first, as expected.

"_So yer not comin' with us, then. That armor just for show, I take it?  
I thought it looked kinda dec'rative. That blade on the back's hardly useful."_

"_Do not be ridiculous. I cannot leave my flame's home for the amount of time it would take to see these tasks through, lest I perish along with it. Half a day is the **most** I can manage, and even then I begin to falter. I would ask you speak less of matters concerning me, and more upon the words of Master Gwyndolin."_

"_Fine, then."_

So the bronze-armored woman wanted to remain a mystery. Ymir could understand that, given his own history. There was hardly a reason for her to be so gruff, however.

"_So do we get to speak to 'Master' Gwyndolin? It'd be nice to get an eyeful of who we're dealing with."_

"_No."_

Strike two. The horn-helmed warrior was liking this less and less, as he motioned for the horn-headed lad to finish off the meal.

"_What about an explanation, then? You can't expect us to just go an' smack some heads about without a reason."_

Inside her helm, eyes narrowed. Where did all these questions come from? When one received a task from a god, surely it was better to fulfill it- not to blunder about with reasons. Regardless of this, they were new to Lordran- perhaps some **small **worldly information would suffice.

"_In the Age of Ancients the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. Naught existed save Archtrees, Everlasting Dragons and darkness- but by the grace of Gwyn, fire was created- as were we all. With fire came disparity. Life and death. Heat and cold. Light and dark. Without it, this world will eventually succumb once more to the timeless nothingness it was before._

_Signs of this have already appeared- the bonfires no longer retain their strength without individual Keepers, and have not for some time. The Darksign, an undead curse, spreads amongst the living who've had their soul- their humanity- their essence- stolen from them through one means or another- gradually taking their minds and rendering them no better than the deathless men and women from the Age of Ancients. Dragons come from unknown coasts and caves, already seeking to re-establish their rule._

_The Flame that Master Gwyndolin, Gwyn's Child, has asked you to bring here- it is the last hope we have of kindling that First Flame once more and sustaining this world, and keeping our scaly age-old enemy vulnerable. Without it- Lordran shall become a hell. Does that answer, for an **explanation**?"_

Under his skullcap, Ymir frowned. He was right, then. Dragons existed here, and they were every bit as horrible as his world's own. That sealed it, then- if this world needed a dragonslayer to guide the 'Flame' to Anor Londo, then a dragonslayer it would have. They couldn't have asked a better man. They could, however, have sent a nicer person to tell them what was needed.

"_Works for me. You ready, Kid?"_

"_Ready, Ymir."_

Ymir turned around, reaching for his pack- but the lad was already one step ahead of him. At the top of the stairs, with the bow around the tribal standard over his chest, 'Kid' was obviously prepped to go. A glance at the pot told Ymir that he was full, too- the thing was empty. Best to leave it here, rather than shove the dirty dish back into his pack. One by one, Ymir's gear found its proper place.

"_One thing before we go, Miss Lavian."_

"_Does that entail you cleaning up after yourself?"_

"_Naw."_

A smile in his stubble, before Ymir's feet found the stairs outward.

"_It 'entails' you pulling that wasp out yer arse before you ask us to sweat the small stuff. We're savin' the world, aren't we? You could afford to be a little nice."_

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

Screaming. A keening violence of sound that vibrated the very atoms of the air into a nervous breakdown, the cacophony confusing and terrifying helpless protons and neutrons. Logan and Zelda did not fare much better, hurriedly bringing hands to head in an effort to keep eardrums intact. Seath could only whip backwards in surprise, his Channelers stumbling and roiling in turmoil.

It was not merely the wand that this man held; it was the crystals of this room. The prisms themselves were crying out for deliverance.

A mere second into the whine of destruction, jagged cracks spiderwebbed their way through the thinnest; the echoed sound octaves lower, reverberating into the largest like an invisible jackhammer. Two seconds, and not a single crystalline post was without damage, and the sound never ceased.

Three seconds, and the crystals could take it no more.

In the midst of an exploding shower of rock glass, the ghostly figure thumbed his wand- the hellish noise ceasing utterly, as he spun to level a cold stare at Duke Seath himself. Behind him, the robed channelers were only now recovering.

"_That **was** it, wasn't it? Destroy each crystal in the room, using as few glyphs as possible, with only the power of sound? I think you'll find there's not a sculpture in here that I missed."_

_][**Who are you?!][**_

"_I answered that, though I'd imagine 'Hero of Time' doesn't quite roll off the tongue, and might be a tad conspicuous. We'll go with the other, then- you can call me the Doctor. You, on the other hand, **I** know."_

_**][Of course you do.][**_

"_Yes, I'd imagine it isn't so hard a feat to know about a gigantic white dragon sitting smack-dab in the center of the largest library this world has had, has or ever will have. No, no, who **doesn't** know about the alabaster creature that pines for his love, the dead goddess Fina, using **every** tool at his disposal to try and give her an immortality beyond her own natural agelessness? Why, surely **no one** knows about the waxing of purity upon the **Primordial** C**rystal,** building up such a residual storage of Fina's own domain that she could be fused eternally with-"_

It was like a gunshot, the speed with which Seath moved. As Logan looked around in vain for an unshattered crystal to hide behind, Zelda was only now standing from the floor; her more-sensitive ears bleeding. The 'Doctor', on the other hand, was aloft- quite literally in the other hand. A squeezing, many-jointed hand of long fingers and rage.

_**][None should know that. Where did you learn of this?][**_

But the Doctor could not speak- Seath had lost himself, his fingers crushing ribs against lungs. It hardly mattered- if he was the only one to know, then he would be the only one to die. In fact,-

"_Wait!"_

-Seath growled, glaring downward as the Doctor struggled in his grasp.

_**][Hylian, you test my patience again-][**_

"_He spoke of something from my world- please, let him go!"_

_**][He spoke of things known only to me. I shall not.][**_

In Seath's gargantuan grip, the Doctor was hardly struggling- focusing instead on his breathing, with a blue-eyed glare of translucent judgment upon the unscaled.

"_At this moment, we flounder about at random, S- Duke Seath! If he can help us, I would rather he did- our own feelings can come later!"_

"_Zelda, your ears are bleeding."_

"_I will be fine, Logan."_

The Doctor was dropped, as Logan began to replace his hat- the Princess shaking her head and taking the less-ruined of her two sleeves to wipe one ear. Hylians were born with two sets- losing one pair of eardrums was hardly a matter of concern. Granted, it meant she would be unable to use some of the more telepathic abilities of her heritage for some time, but there were unlikely to be other Hylians here.

Picking himself off the tile, two hands brushed at the brown coat- his emerald-tipped catalyst, off the ground and into one pocket.

"_How do you know of my ancestor's title, 'Doctor', and why are you here?"_

"_Two reasons, Princess, to answer your second question first. Oh, that's a fun one- 'second question first'. I need that Soapstone- Logan's got it, if I remember correctly."_

Stunned, the sorcerer blinked from under his hat. How would this man know that? Perplexed, it was a rustling about in his robes before withdrawing the slick-textured spike of white rock. Only as large as a man's palm, it had been old Big-Hat's for quite some time- using it to walk between realities in order to face threats with no consequence, in the name of testing and honing new spells and knowledge.

"_A Soapstone? But why the blazes would you come to us for one? They're hardly rare, and stealing into the Duke's Archives for one is beyond me. Besides that, they're naught but useless trinkets now- didn't you hear? With all the worlds melded toge-"_

The transparent man waved a hand as if to shut him up.

"_-together like a patchwork tapestry, pulling all the worlds around it with antimagnetic force centered around chronological and arcane disruptions, matching events in one dimension with events in others and stealing historically important people, places and things from the planes that have the misfortune of colliding with this one, yes, I know. I **know**, Logan, that the flux shards- or soapstones- don't have the ability to shunt you willy-nilly about like a free-floating dust mote into parallel realities anymore. That isn't what I need it for. Now- hand it over, please."_

"_Do it."_

Shooting Zelda an odd look as she so easily took this strange man's side, Logan contemplated their words while Seath tried in vain to compose himself. The wizard felt for the dragon, he really did- to have a man of knowledge's work interrupted by so many unknown faces was not only irritating, it was a travesty of the solitude any scholar should desire. There had been so many surprises in this hour alone that Logan was sure he'd have had a heart attack if he wasn't undead already!

Was this fact coloring his actions? Perhaps so- what else could have explained why he tossed it- the milky shard spinning end-over-end as it sailed through the air into one outstretched palm?

"_Right. Good. Now for the second bit."_

Pocketing the spike next to his catalyst, the Doctor turned again.

"_Aside from that, Princess, I didn't come for much else- but I've a **message. **For you, Seath."_

_**][Speak, then, and we shall see if this interruption was worth our time.][**_

"_Oh, it had better be- but that depends on you, doesn't it? Right now, I'll bet you're wondering just what I've got to do with the Lord Soul you've sensed wandering about in this land. I'm here to tell you it **isn't** what you need to worry about."_

_**][No? And why should I listen to the ravings of an obvious lunatic?][**_

"_Because that obvious lunatic has a big blue box that's shown him what happens next- and you've got to get these two out of here. If you don't, Logan dies- pointlessly-"_

"_I will most certainly **not** be leaving! This archives is a wealth of wisdom that I simply **cannot** abide leaving behind!"_

"_Shut up, Logan. I am **talking.**"_

"_And of nonsense! Milord, Zelda, can you really think he-"_

"_**I. am. Talking!"**_

Sudden quiet. The Seeker Logan was fuming beneath his hat- but the sooner this madman said his peace, the sooner he'd leave. Clearing his throat, the translucent idiot continued unabated.

"_**As** I was **saying**. Logan dies pointlessly after losing his mind; you, Seath, follow him soon after. Someone knows how to kill you, Seath, and they're on their way here. The Princess is the only one that survives, but only just."_

_**][Preposterous.][**_

"_Not so much. They're in league with **Death.**"_

If a dragon was capable of awestruck shock, Zelda was sure she saw it now. It did not last long- the serpentine neck recoiled, before settling as that telepathic boom settled into a solemn growl.

_**][Nito. That hypocrite still seeks to be the sole immortal of Lordran.][**_

"_He does. And he fails. I **know** he fails, but you don't manage to win. Not entirely. You can't stop what can't die, Seath, not with violence. His allies tell a **very** important individual indeed how to kill you, and **then** you die."_

_**][How can you claim to know this?][**_

"_Didn't you hear me? Hero of Time. I realize you don't believe me, Seath, but think about it- can you **really** afford to ignore me? You live in strange times."_

_**][Why help me?][**_

"_What makes you think I'm helping **you?** I'm helping **them****. **You're being helped by inference."_

_**][Them who?][**_

His short hair swished, head whipping.

"_Them that suffer. At your hands, at others', at their own. Do as I say, and you might just live long enough to see who was taken from you."_

Now Zelda was **certain **she saw shock. Even Seath's porcelain skin was incapable of masking his stunned interest.

_**][...Fina?][**_

The Doctor didn't answer. Either the Duke had guessed correctly, or it simply wasn't necessary to correct him. It was now the Princess's turn to be surprised, as the half-invisible interloper affixed her with a sapphire stare. As if apprehensive himself, the Doctor's tongue slipped outward to wet his lips. Zelda knew the motion; he knew what he had to say, but was uncertain of how to say it.

"_Princess. Zelda."_

What could she had said? Asked? This man raised far more questions than he answered with every breath. If she still had her right hand, perhaps she'd have been able to discern his intent- but it was gone, and with it was her ancestral power. The most she could do now was stare back in puzzlement.

"_You don't know me. That's fine- I don't expect you to. You don't know who I am yet, and I won't know you, and you're going to think me a liar soon enough. But I **promise** you- I **promise** you that it **will** turn out alright, no matter **what** happens next. I have a **plan**. Don't stay here. Don't let Logan stay behind. You've got to convince the Torch that Seath is **not** a threat- that he doesn't **need** to die. You've got to tell her that the Pendant is the Key to the Vessel. If you don't, things will get a **lot** worse before they get better. Alright? You're the **only **one I can trust in this world."_

"_A-Alright...? How- Hero of Time? My ances-"_

"_Its what **you** called me. Call me. Never mind. Just remember my words. **Please.**"_

Still outraged at the idea of leaving the Archives, Logan was speechless. Speechless, when the Doctor took a few careful backwards steps towards the door of dazed Channelers.

"_Now, if you don't mind me, gents, I've got some more meddling and mucking about to do! Hope you don't mind- really, got to run!"_

It was amazing how one man's words could turn a conference into a quiet state of confusion. Especially when that same man finished his exit by sliding something over one finger, and vanishing utterly in a cloud of gray fog.

"_Milord, you cannot **possibly** be banking on this stranger's words-"_

_**][I am not 'banking' upon them, Logan, but I am intrigued. A man of obvious power and knowledge bursts uninvited and unimpeded into my private counsel, spouts words known only to me, and then leaves without a trace? I do not think we have a choice in this matter.][**_

"_Duke Seath, I've scarcely had time to finish one book-"_

_**][Then the others tantalize you enough to follow my commands. Good. You are to accompany the Hylian on her quest, Logan- should you succeed, the Archives' books will be yours to peruse once again.][**_

Unknown to the remainder, Zelda only stared at where the Doctor had once been standing. One hand cradled her severed forearm. This world was becoming stranger.

"_The Torch... The Pendant is the Key to the Vessel... What?"_

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

"_Let- ergh- go of me!"_

Bang! Bang-bang-bang!

The sound of a gun was often characterized as being loud. This was true- but in reality, the sound of even a pistol was far louder than what a medieval cannon sounded as in any medieval film. The closer they came to the sound of battle, the louder this strange weapon became to Helene's ears- no, they'd yet to lay eyes on what was occurring, but one could tell it was of a woman matched in lethal combat with something-

**Thumpf.**

"_Augh!"_

_**Wham.**_

-huge. In the distance, terror **roared**. It was a sound from before words; a battlecry. A lament that not enough death could be spread. Here, though, the sprinting Helene and Oscar had been interrupted by a falling body, rolling off the inclined roof above.

"_Gods!"_

"_Helene, stay with her! Get her to safety!"_

"_What are you- **where are you going?! Oscar!**"_

"_To lead it away!"_

Already on her knees next to the unconscious and bruised fighter, Helene could only take the time to toss her shield aside and give her a look-over. From the sounds in the distance, Oscar had already met-up with whatever had thrown this woman onto the nearest roof, and the sound of combat was beginning to rouse the Burg's denizens.

This was going from bad to worse, and extremely quickly. There was no way that Helene would be able to drag the girl out of here with haste- and abandoning Oscar was **not** in the cards. But what to do?

Get started, nurse.

Likely concussion- seeping head wound in the back, from striking the alleyway's wall on her way down. Could be worse- likely this strange bag on her back kept her from hitting it solid, mostly giving her whiplash on impact. Bandages- Helene needed banda-

"_S'mn g't 'dvil-"_

"_You're awake! Can you stand?! We've got to hide you!"_

"_Th'fggi can't st- nnh."_

The strange silver-haired human pushed themselves upright, or tried to- her legs didn't seem to work quite right. What little purchase those thick boots gave wasn't enough to give lift.

"_Alright- stay down. Got me? Stay down!"_

"_Wh' th- who-"_

They were interrupted by a groan.

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

Armored feet thudded the cobblestone upper streets of the burg, Oscar sprinting as quickly as his equipment would allow. The roof that the strange woman had been thrown onto was three stories high- why run towards something capable of that much strength?

Oscar didn't know. Adrenaline could be a real bitch, sometimes.

Perhaps it was only that he wanted to make up for the lack of skill that had laid him low the first time he'd fought such a large opponent. Perhaps it was only that he desired to give Helene the time she needed to save a life, or unlife.

Perhaps Oscar only wanted blood, and the fight ahead promised a good deal.

Blood was the scene he stumbled upon.

The thing was **huge.** Hollows, crushed, strewn about its four-toed feet. The hair of its one-ton muscular frame, matted and stained red. A face of bone, an ivory protrusion of marrow from a body otherwise of flesh- and curved ram's horns sealed the deal, giving the visage a helmet's appearance rather than a face. Only twin beady eyes of hellfire spoke of this mask being its true head. Lipless teeth gaped, breathing smoke and brimstone- a demon. A second demon, in so many as two days- perhaps less.

Suffice it to say that Oscar was quickly regretting his decision to be rash.

The knight could only give pause, taking a careful step backwards as the adrenaline gave way to dread- the monster, turning to face him- affixing him with a stare of purest hate, one three-fingered hand hefting what could only have been the splintered femur of a less-lucky hellspawn. What was once a leg bone was now a deadly two-handed axe for an oversized berserker.

This abyssal bull-headed gorilla was twice Oscar's size in all directions, several times his weight, and an infinite amount more vicious. It was no Asylum Demon, where flab made up so much of its weight- it was so much worse.

In the end, it was a good deal more than his bravery.

Terror roared his cry for death, and the knight turned to run.

~̷̵̷̀~̷̧̢̀͠~̷̵̸̷~͢͝~̸҉͜҉~̡͏~́͘͜͞~̧̨͜͡~̕̕͢~҉̡̀͝͠~̧~̀̀~̶҉́~̡́~̸͠~̷̵͝͏̨~̵̛̛͘~҉͝͞~͘͟͞~̴̧~҉́҉~̛͏~̛͢~̶̷͘͜~̶̶̀̕͟~̶͟~̨͞~̧̨͘~̶̢̕~̸̧̡͘

To say some part of Helene wasn't afraid would be like saying the fat kid at the arcade wouldn't like a slice of pizza. It would be like saying hell was a pleasant enough place to visit, so long as you brought some sunscreen. But fear wasn't what gripped her in entirety, right here and now; it was unwillingness.

Around the corner, wheezing and moaning, came a Hollow- its face leathery and cracked from aging skin without life to renew it, its jaw open and toothless. Ragged armor of iron covered half its' chest, the mere rags of an old belt holding up what remained of its' chainmail trousers. A longsword, and large heater- both bent and dented, like its domed iron cap. A nurse saved lives; she didn't take them, and the brief respite of violence she'd had for herself ripped all the vigor and tenacity of combat from her.

Oscar's doing, offering his blade so that hers would be unstained. One eternity in a locked cell was not enough to fully remove who someone was.

Closer, crept the shuffling soldier- and her charge still tried in vain to stand- this steel-lipped and silver-haired tattooed lass in baggy trousers, sleeveless blouse. There was no way to get to a safe distance, now- hollows **could **run, even if they preferred to shamble.

"_Bugger. ...**Stay down, girl.**"_

There was a choice to make. Life and death? Or aversion?

Leaning low, dark-skinned Helene of Catarina picked up her shield slowly. He was dead anyway- right? That **was** right, wasn't it? He was dead and mindless, whereas this unknown girl was alive- or moreso alive, at least- and could be saved. Why was she agonizing over this?! She'd already crushed one Hollow, hadn't she? With a body, no less? Oscar, ending several others? By now she should have known better than to hesitate- but still, using a sword...

Her own longsword came free from its thong at her hip.

_I'm a nurse,_ she thought. _I'm a nurse, and I have to save the living. Even if she's undead- that's close enough, and the other one can't be helped. Best to take him down- right? I'm sorry._

Lifting her shield and sword, Helene bent her aching knees.

"_You want our souls? Come and get them."_


End file.
